


Ramble On

by sleepingspero9



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Humor, Awkward Dean, Awkwardness, Dom Castiel, Drama, Gay Panic, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Mobster Castiel, Phone Sex, Romance, Sex Worker Castiel, Stalking, Threats of Violence, Violence, idk it went there and i just followed, mentions of torture, shark jumping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-03-22 08:47:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 45,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3722662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepingspero9/pseuds/sleepingspero9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean gets creative in a prank war against Sam; Castiel is the unfortunate phone sex actor who has to deal with him.  Neither has any idea just how much trouble the other is about to cause him.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dean Winchester was pissed. More pissed than he’d been in a long time. Things had escalated way too far today. He stormed into his studio apartment, slamming the door so loudly behind him that the entire frame shook.  
  
Dean didn’t bother removing his boots, just stomped across the room without a single fuck to give about the dirt he was tracking. He dropped himself unceremoniously onto his bed, sprawling across the black covers and scowling as he pulled out his cellphone.  
  
He browsed for a moment using a search engine app, and paused when he found something that made his whole face light up. He quickly highlighted the numbers displayed on his screen, selected the dial option while fishing in his jean pocket for a second item.  
  
Surprisingly, it was a female operator who picked up the call.  
  
“Welcome to Revelations, the perfect place to meet guys for steamy hookups and hot chat. One hundred percent private and confidential,” she said cheerily. Her voice was pitched to be helpful and pleasant, but clearly lacked the talent of a phone actress.  
  
“Yeah, hi there sweetheart.” Dean grinned widely as he twirled a shiny gold card between his fingers. “I’m calling to make an account with you lovely people.”  
  
“I’m glad to hear that, sir! Are you looking for -”  
  
Dean interrupted her, unable to contain the glee in his tone. “I am looking to splurge. Give me your most expensive package.” He was lying on his back, making wide gestures in the air even though she couldn’t see him.  
  
“Expensive?” She repeated, unsure of his meaning. “You can choose from our specialised categories, sir. Every category we offer is displayed on the website if you would like to browse. But I know that off the top of my head, the ones with the highest prices are all by the uniform.”  
  
“By the uniform, what’s that mean?”  
  
“Yes, sir. The most popular requests are firemen, police, military -”  
  
“Woah, woah,” Dean cut her off again, cringing at the mental images. “I get it, okay. Let’s, uh - yeah, we’ll go with military.”  
  
“Yes, sir.” He could hear the clacking of keys. “For the account type, we offer -”  
  
“Give me everything you’ve got, sugar. I want to pay top dollar for every minute, you understand?”  
  
The operator girl quickly caught on and diligently obliged. She worked out the priciest payment plan for him, voiding the bonuses earned with the activation of a premium account. Afterwards, she carefully requested whether he would like an anonymous client profile or whether he was willing to supply personal information for ease of reference.  
  
It was too perfect.  
  
“I would be delighted,” he sniggered.  
  
“Sure thing! I’ll ask for your credit card number now.”  
  
Dean read the numbers off slowly, drawing this step out as long as possible and taking great pleasure as he did.  
  
“And the phone number you are calling from now, sir, can I use this to send the activation code?”  
  
He lifted his cellphone slightly to glance at it. He shrugged. “Yeah, sure. That works.”  
  
“Now, for privacy, we only ask for the city and state of residence.”  
  
“Lawrence, Kansas. Born and raised.” Dean rolled onto his side, biting in a full blown cackle.  
  
“And may I enter your full name, sir?”  
  
“You sure can.” His grin was so wide now, it hurt.  
  
“It’s Sam.” Dean ran his thumb along the name at the bottom of the credit card he was toying with. “Samuel Winchester.”  
  
“Thank you, Mr. Winchester! That’s everything I need from you. We will send the code after your trial chat.”  
  
Dean sat up at that. “Trial what?”  
  
“Yes, sir. Part of the registration package is a 60-minute free chat.”  
  
“Can I pay for this chat?” He asked, frowning.  
  
“Sir -” she faltered. “The full price would be - well, we offer the trial chat to ensure your satisfaction with the services. If you’d like -”  
  
“I’d  _like_  to pay for the service. Can we do that?”  
  
There was a moment of silence before she spoke up again, sweet as ever. “That’s not a problem, sir.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
More typing sounds. “Alright, sir. I have your call lined up now, if I may transfer you?”  
  
“Bring it on.” Dean’s smirk returned.  
  
“Yes, sir. Thank you for calling. Please enjoy your chat!”  
  
And then there was a shuffle, the line going silent. A new call started ringing. Dean felt a little apprehensive at the sound, so he leaned back against his pillows again and crossed his ankles. He fingered Sam’s credit card to calm himself with thoughts of sweet, sweet revenge.  
  
The ringing stopped with a click. Someone had picked up the line, he could hear their mouth open, inhaling to speak.  
  
_A gay phone sex actor_ , about to try his charm on Dean.  
  
“Novak here.” The voice was a curt, low grumble. Not exactly the camp attempt at seduction that Dean was expecting.  
  
“Who is this?” The man asked, as if he was picking up a personal call. Really, someone was paying him to do this?  
  
“My name is -” he was about to say “Sam” to keep up appearances, but something stopped him.  
  
The actor didn’t miss a beat and interjected the moment Dean faltered, “What do you want me to call you, boy?”  
  
“Dean. I’m Dean.” It just kind of came out of his mouth.  
  
“Good. Dean. I’m officer Novak, it’s a pleasure to… meet you. As it were.” As he spoke, Dean wanted more and more for him to just clear his throat already.  
  
Dean chuckled. “ ‘Officer’? What, so you’re supposed to be a marine or-”  
  
Novak talked over him again. “Air force, actually. One gold stripe.”  
  
“Gold? What’s that?”  
  
“Second lieutenant. We wear a single gold bar.”  
  
“Heh.” Dean rubbed his brow with his free hand, wincing at the absurdity. “So you do your homework. Good for you.”  
  
“No, Dean,” the way Novak addressed him felt eerily intimate. Not in even in that supposedly sexy way that was expected. It seemed... too real. “I’m off duty now,” he breathed.  
  
Ah. So he  _was_  taking this somewhere.  
  
“I could really use some help relaxing, Dean,” he finished.  
  
Dean inhaled to respond, so sharply that he almost choked. “Dude, hold up, hold up,” he managed. “Listen, this is just - I’m only trying to rack up my little brother’s credit card, okay. It’s a prank.”  
  
Novak went quiet for a moment. Then, surprisingly, he quipped in that same grumble, “There are much faster ways to spend money.”  
  
“True,” Dean felt himself smirking again. “But this way, his girlfriend is going to find the charges much more interesting.”  
  
“Interesting,” Novak echoed.  
  
Dean couldn’t discern a tone from this phone actor, whether disapproval or otherwise, so he quickly elaborated. “No, he totally deserves it. He pulled a giant dick move.”  
  
“And you’re getting him back.” It wasn’t a question, really.  
  
Dean answered it anyway. “Yup. Which means you get a paid vacation today.”  
  
Novak breathed a little sigh. Exasperation? “So … what is it you’re asking me to do?”  
  
“You can go clip your toenails for all I care. Just keep the line open,” Dean instructed.  
  
“And what are you going to do for this hour?”  
  
“Me? I’ll…” Dean hadn’t thought of that. He sat up again and glanced around. “I’ll be watching Netflix.”  
  
“Then I’ll watch with you. I’m on voip anyway.”  
  
“What? No, we really don’t need to -”  
  
“Dean,” Novak sounded downright impatient. “These calls are monitored. If an agent happens to check on our line and hears dead air, they’ll cut it.”  
  
Oh. As Dean considered this, Novak continued speaking.  
  
“If you want to work up a decent charge on your brother’s card, you’re going to have to keep talking.”  
  
Dean had to hand it to him: he was a real natural at the gruff, commanding timbre that was most likely a great attraction for real clients. What’s more, he was still trying to convince Dean, outside of the roleplay, that he gave a crap about what Dean wanted here. Giving him advice.  
  
Talk about customer service.  
  
“Are we… in cahoots?” Dean asked blankly.  
  
Novak sighed again. “Game of Thrones,” he said.  
  
“What?”  
  
“On Netflix. Would you like to watch Game of Thrones?”  
  
“Oh. Yeah, okay,” Dean stumbled. “That sounds… okay.”  
  
They found the series and started with minimal discussion, other than Novak complimenting the volume on Dean’s end.  
  
“Ah, thanks, it’s a sweet surround system I set up just -”  
  
“Dean, I can’t hear surround sound through the phone,” Novak deadpanned.  
  
“Oh,” Dean wasn't downcast at that, at all.  
  
“I only meant that it’s good to keep the noise on our line.”  
  
“Right, yeah. Obviously.” He pulled an eyeroll and a fake smile, then remembered that Novak couldn’t see him. They were redundant, facial expressions.  
  
Dean realised that there wasn’t anyone that he spent much time on the phone with. If a chick started calling, she was cut out of the picture pretty quickly. Sam was enough like a girl, but thank god he preferred texting.  
  
They started the first episode, Novak revealing that it was based on a book series. He seemed full of interesting trivia about the locations and characters - the nerd had read all the books. Dean found himself biting his lip to stop from asking how a geeky fantasy fan ended up doing phone sex for a living, using a fake military persona.  
  
At least he had enough tact to hold that in.  
  
The series was just racy enough to catch Dean’s attention, but it was a little disconcerting at first with Novak on the other end of the line. Dean failed to contain a hearty “Woah, hello,” the first time a giant pair of breasts appeared on his screen - but other than a gruff half-chuckle in response, Novak remained silent for the rest of these scenes.  
  
Dean could have sworn at one particularly graphic scene with two girls, he heard Novak sigh in boredom. And suddenly his tact went out the window. “Not your cup, huh?”  
  
“What do you mean?” The phone actor asked.  
  
Dean actually facepalmed. Had he really said that?  
  
“Oh, you mean females.” Novak caught on then. “I am not unaffected by them,” he said blandly.  
  
Dean snickered, and rubbed his forehead. There was something really funny about the way this guy deadpanned everything.  
  
They ran episode after episode, sailing past the initial one-hour timeframe for the chat. Dean was mostly enjoying the time pass because every minute was payback for what Sam did to him, but soon enough he was genuinely getting into the show. He started asking questions, the phone actor turned out to be a real wealth of knowledge about this fantasy world. Unfortunately, he was incredibly tight-lipped about "spoilers".  
  
It was the small hours of the morning when Dean realised they’d gone through half a season.  
  
“Crap, I have to work tomorrow. _Crap_ ,” he reiterated.  
  
There was the soft rumble in Dean’s ear that indicated Novak’s weak laughter. “This episode was a big one. It would have been a shame to stop before it.”  
  
“Yeah - dude, I have to say, that Joffrey kid is a  _dick_.” Dean yawned against his will. “But I didn’t realise how late it is, I should really hit the sack.”  
  
Novak huffed some noise of affirmation. “I have to admit, I’m feeling tired myself.”  
  
“I do usually average four hours of sleep,” Dean confessed.  
  
“Then you should consider this early. If you go to sleep now, you could get more than your four hours.”  
  
Dean wondered for a moment if Novak was even in his time zone. But that wouldn’t be an appropriate thing to ask.  
  
“Can I ask you a question, Dean?”  
  
Huh. Weird timing. "Yeah, sure.”  
  
“What did your brother do to earn a 5-hour bill from me?”  
  
Dean felt a scowl instantly cross his face. “He damaged my single most prized possession, the thing I love most in this world.”  
  
It was awkwardly silent for a moment; Novak was probably waiting for him to elaborate.  
  
“Oh,” Dean quickly explained, “it’s actually just a prank war. We’ve been doing these since we were kids. You know, it starts with something small like having anchovy pizza delivered to his house, and before you know it, someone’s got nair in their shampoo, and nobody ever wins.”  
  
“Ah. I can relate. I have a brother who shares this… destructive sense of humour,” Novak said.  
  
“Yeah? Tell me, your brother ever get you arrested? One time Sam sent me into a police checkpoint when I’d been shooting these weird drinks all night, trying to get with the bartender. Turns out bartender ladies aren’t all that impressed when you’re towed away and she has to walk 4 miles back to the bar.” Dean was getting angry just remembering that night. She had been  _so_  hot.  
  
“He once locked me in an underground sewer.”  
  
“That’s not so bad,” Dean huffed. “Let me tell you, the drunk tank might as well be a sewer.”  
  
Novak countered, "I was five years old. I spent a whole night before anyone found me.”  
  
“Oh.” Dean imagined leaving a younger Sammy anywhere outside overnight. He could never do that. “Yeah, your brother takes the cake for biggest dick.”  
  
It was silent again, as Novak went totally quiet.  
  
“Are you still there, bud?”  
  
“Yes,” he rushed, “I am. I just - I shouldn’t have told you that. It was unprofessional, I apologize.”  
  
“What? Dude, no.” Dean waved at the air again, “it’s like 3 a.m.  _I’m_  sorry for keeping you up so late.”  
  
“It’s quite alright, Dean. I’m getting paid for it.” Novak said. “I hope it was expensive enough for your brother. Besides, I enjoyed our time together.”  
  
Dean couldn’t help but wonder if that was a corny line he regularly issued to clients. He was so damn toneless it was impossible to tell. He couldn't imagine someone as geeky and unsociable as this could possibly bring someone off with just his words.  
  
Then again, people had weirder kinks than gruff monotone.  
  
“Would, uh,” he stumbled, gathered himself again. “Sam’s not going to get his bill for a couple weeks. I plan to, you know, get in as many charges as I can before then.”  
  
“Ah. It was that valuable, was it? The thing he damaged.”  
  
“Believe me, there is no price tag for what he’s done.” Dean breathed deep before he asked his next question. It came out in a bit of a rush: “Is it possible - I mean if you don’t mind - am I able to request you again next time?”  
  
“You certainly may,” Novak seemed pleased. Maybe Dean was imagining it, though, the guy still sounded bored as ever. “Normally I schedule my appointments with regular clients. If you would like to do it that way.”  
  
“Yeah, sure, that works - when, uh. When are you available? Can we do tomorrow?”  
  
“Sorry, I am booked on most weeknights. Friday, in the evening, is my next opening.”  
  
“Friday? Let’s do it.” Dean considered his usual Friday night routine. There was a chick with a slammin’ body that he’d been working over at the Cobalt Room last weekend; she was a little annoying with the hard to get routine, but she’d probably be there Saturday night as well. She was obviously hot for him, anyway.  
  
Yeah, it would be fine.  
  
“I will call you at eight o’clock sharp,” Novak said. “Can I use the number you registered tonight?”  
  
“Yeah, please.” Dean tried not to think that this was what his Friday nights had come down to. Netflix dates with a gay phone sex actor.  
  
“Then I’ll say goodnight for now. Dean.”  
  
It was hard to tell, but maybe Novak was muffling a yawn. The thought made Dean yawn instantly, and suddenly he felt exhausted all at once.  
  
“Yeah, see you on Friday,” he said.  
  
“Sleep well,” Novak said, and then abruptly the line went dead.  
  
“You too,” Dean said to no one, rolling his eyes at his phone.  
  
If Novak really was feeling sleepy like Dean felt, it was pretty likely that he was in the central time zone, too. Not that it mattered. He stuffed those thoughts away and rolled off the couch where he'd been marathoning this new show, to head back to his bed.  
  
He'd been awake since 5 a.m., the opening shift, and running on about 3 hours sleep the entire day. He wormed out of his boots and the green lightweight jacket he'd worn while driving home from the shop, but he didn't bother with the rest of his layers. He couldn't muster the wherewithal to do much more than plug in his phone before slipping under the covers with his socks and jeans still on.  
  
He ran his tongue along his teeth as a sliver of concern for dental hygiene died within him. It was a bit unlike him. He had a certain anxiety about things like that; but tonight he drifted off, wearing the musk of a long day and still somehow perfectly content.  
  
The next morning, Sam was in his fucking apartment. He had long ago taken away the kid's key, but Sam was a lock picker. And the building had shitty security. Dean had complained more than once that for a law school student, Sam seemed to have absolutely zero grasp on the concept of breaking and entering.  
  
Dean was glaring him down, but Sam was a ray of sunshine anyway.  
  
“Morning, Dean,” he said. He crossed to the kitchen counter and placed a brown bag with small dark spots that were the beginning of grease stains.  
  
That’s when Dean smelled it. Buttery, toasty, delicious cholesterol. He ignored his stomach, and the instinct to praise Sam for bringing his favourite breakfast sandwiches; he swung his legs out of the bed.  
  
“What the fuck is this,” he grumbled. The taste of his mouth was awful; he instantly regretted his waiver on tooth brushing last night.  
  
“An apology?” Sam offered, his eyebrows stitching together in anxious appeal. He knew very well that even breakfast foods weren’t enough to get him out of this one.  
  
“Dude -” Dean was about to bark at his little brother, but the discomfort of yesterday’s clothes and yesterday’s breath was too much. He couldn’t properly concentrate on being angry when he was like this. What was worse, he had to piss so badly, he was painfully hard without even moving. “Fuck it, I’m showering.”  
  
He grabbed some fresh clothes, a pair of canvas jeans because he knew he’d be on the ground at work today. He chucked a pillow at Sam, just for good measure, on his way to the bathroom.  
  
The brat caught it, with his freakish reflexes. “Should I just -”  
  
“I don’t care what you do, Sam,” Dean slammed the bathroom door behind him.  
  
Surprisingly, Sam was still sitting at his counter when Dean came out, a towel around his neck. Actually, it wasn’t at all surprising. Sam was the most stubborn little shit he’d ever known. Being hard-headed would make him a good lawyer, but it made him very bothersome as a little brother. Of course he hovered around like a creep while Dean was conducting normal, personal routines; he hadn’t gotten what he came for yet.  
  
“What do you want?” Dean asked tiredly. He crossed to the counter, refusing to look at Sam and going straight for the greasy paper bag.  
  
Sam looked up from where he was playing with his cellphone. He sighed, as if he was a girl and Dean had brought him the wrong flowers. “Look, I just want you to understand that it was an accident. You totally blew me off yesterday. I only -”  
  
“Only?!” Dean shouted. Some breakfast sandwich may or may not have flown out of his mouth at Sam. He would have deserved it anyway.  
  
“I had no idea it would bend the rims, I swear it!”  
  
“Right, yeah, because everyone knows that two tons of steel just floats around when you let the air out of the tires,” Dean said with an open palm that was supposed to read as the words ‘are you retarded’. He shot Sam a sarcastic smile that felt more like a grimace. “Of course.”  
  
Dean stuffed the rest of the sandwich in his mouth and turned his back, looking for wherever his boots had landed last night.  
  
“I’ll pay for the new rims, okay?!” Sam shouted across the room.  
  
One boot was missing. Dean sighed and instead went for the pillow that Sam had set down on the sofa. “They’re special order sport rims, dude.  _Chrome_.”  
  
“Give me the brand and size, I’ll do it right now.”  
  
He tossed the pillow across the room again. It hit the bed and fell to the floor. “Damn it, Sam!” Dean turned to him in exasperation. “What am I supposed to do until they come in? Take the bus?!"  
  
“You… Dean, you work at an auto shop.” Sam shook his head, bitchy as ever. “You know, it’s not a blasphemy to use spares for a couple days.”  
  
“That’s beside the point!” Dean had reached the pillow again, bent to pick it up. His other boot was visible just under the bed. He grunted as he reached for it. “Ugh, it’s like dressing Baby up in rags.”  
  
“Then what is your point? You know I didn’t mean to do it. And you - _you sent three clowns to my house!_ ” Sam sure had a way of making everything Dean’s fault.  
  
“It’s not just the car.” Dean sat on the bed to pull his boots on. “It’s the principle of the matter. These pranks are going too far, man. We’re not kids anymore.”  
  
Sam seemed sympathetic for a moment, contemplating Dean’s words. Then he frowned, even stood up. “Wait a second,” he said, waving an accusatory finger. “How long have I been saying exactly that?”  
  
Dean shrugged. “You weren’t saying it when you changed all my background screens to the same hairy balls photo.” He paused, wincing and looking his brother up and down. “They weren’t yours, were they? You should probably clean up down there, bro.”  
  
“Dean!” Sam pulled a bitch face. “Are you, or are you not, currently trying to get back at me?”  
  
“I told you,” Dean nonchalantly passed by him one more time and pulled out the second egg and sausage sandwich Sam had delivered. “I’m done with these stupid games.”  
  
“I’m serious, whatever you’re planning? Just don’t. This is on a whole new scale from anything we’ve done to each other before.”  
  
“Dude! You ruined my  _car_. You don’t have anything that valuable,” he said with a chunk of biscuit in his cheek. “How could I possibly get adequate revenge for this?”  
  
They both made eye contact and had a silent staredown for a moment. Sam was absolutely livid, trembling almost, and Dean successfully managed to hold an indignant scowl. It was getting hard, though, seeing Sam that concerned and not being able to laugh at his sensitive little face. Dean shook his head and turned away when he felt like he couldn’t hold it anymore.  
  
“Dean,” Sam’s tone was warning.  
  
“If you don’t believe me, that’s your problem, little brother.” Dean resolutely avoided even glancing at Sam, because he was certain he’d bust out laughing if he did. He pulled on his jacket and grabbed the essentials: keys, wallet, condom, phone.  
  
“ _Dean_.” He begged this time.  
  
Dean gave his pockets a final patdown to make sure he was ready for the day. He smirked at his shoes, with his back to Sam.  
  
“Well, unlike you I don’t live the luxurious student life and I have a job to go to. I guess you can see yourself out?”  
  
When Dean opened the front door to leave, he finally turned back to fix Sam with a glare. He was rushing across the studio to get to the man purse he’d left on the sofa. “And Sam?”  
  
“Yeah,” his little brother looked back, distracted as he reached for his bag.  
  
“I will never forgive you for hurting Baby.”


	2. Chapter 2

“You must be reeling Starla in, tonight.”  
  
Even though Dean couldn’t see it, he could just hear a smirk in Charlie's tone.  
  
Bobby had her working on some big project right now, integrating a few of the machines in the shop, so Charlie was almost a regular face these days.  She’d put in several days this week, and probably next week too.  
  
She usually came in after finishing her day job at a big corporate head office, so her arrival meant that it was well past time for Dean to leave.  He’d been hanging around the shop for hours doing odd jobs, too anxious to go home yet.  He closed the toolbox he’d been organizing, heads all in rows by size.  
  
“Starla?” Dean didn’t recognise the name, and he turned around, confused.  Yup.  Charlie was smirking.  She crossed the hall to reach him as he put the toolbox away under a work table.  
  
“You know,” she gave a playful punch to his shoulder, “the Cobalt girl.  What’s-her-nuts.”  
  
Dean scoffed, “Her name isn’t  _Starla_.”  He thought for a moment, trying to come up with the woman’s actual name.  He was drawing a blank.  
  
They made their way together towards the break room, where Charlie dumped her bookbag in one of the lockers.  He opened his own locker and pulled out his dark leather coat, checking the pockets.  His cell showed several missed calls from Sam.  Text messages, too.  
  
“Whatever, you’re nearly vibrating.  It’s so obvious you might as well have a neon sign over your head.”  
  
“Yeah, what’s that?”  Dean wasn’t even planning to go to the club tonight, he had no idea what she was going on about.  
  
Charlie looked up at Dean and wiggled one eyebrow.  “You’re getting laid tonight, aren’t you?”  
  
Dean gasped at the same time that he attempted to swallow - the tagline for the Revelations chatline had echoed in his head, “ _The perfect place to meet guys for steamy hookups_.”  He choked loudly.  
  
“Wow.”  Charlie watched him try to collect himself again, unimpressed.  He waved at her in disagreement, still struggling to breathe.  
  
“I’m not - “ he sputtered, clearing his throat.  “I’m not going out tonight.”  
  
She looked offended.  “Don’t get shy on me now, dude.  I demand pics come Monday.”  
  
“Tomorrow,” Dean chuckled.  “I’m still going, okay.”  
  
“Then…” Charlie narrowed one eye at him suspiciously.  “What’s got you shaking your leg?”  
  
“I’m not -”  Dean was suddenly aware that he had been tapping one heel impatiently throughout the conversation.  He stopped.  
  
“It’s just coffee.  I’ve been chugging it all afternoon just to stay awake,” he muttered, gesturing at the coffee maker across the room.  It wasn’t exactly a lie.  
  
Somehow he couldn't figure out a way to make his appointment with a gay phone sex actor sound remotely like the nerdy TV marathon that it really was.  
  
“Ah huh.  Then what’s so important tonight that you’re passing on Starla? Come on, spill.”  
  
“Sammy,” Dean covered, glowering.  “He ruined my car.”  
  
“Ohh,” Charlie said, wincing.  “The prank war?”  
  
“You know about it?”  
  
“Yeah, well,” she took a step back cautiously.  “He might have bribed me into hacking you?”  
  
“The dirty ballsack! That was  _you_?” Dean nearly shouted, pausing in the middle of pulling his jacket on.  
  
“Me,” she said, grimacing.  
  
For half a beat, they just stared awkwardly at each other, no doubt with the same horrible photo in mind.  Then they burst out laughing.  
  
When Dean could talk again, he tried to ask, “How on Earth did Sam convince you -”  
  
“Ugh!” Charlie cut him off before he could even finish the question.  “The  _hottest_  sorority girl.  I’m sorry, I had no choice.”  
  
Dean nodded in concession.  He pulled on his jacket, locating his car keys in the pocket and idly toying with them.  “Man, nerdy little Sam mingling with hot bi curious college girls.  What a waste.”  
  
“Excuse you, my girl’s a gold star,” Charlie said gleefully.  
  
“Shit, where are  _my_  pics, you cheapskate?”  
  
She grinned widely.  “Trade you on Monday?”  
  
“Deal.”  
  
Charlie gave him a wink before sidestepping around him.  “Well, gotta get started on the network setup.”  
  
“Yeah, I’m heading home anyway,” Dean held up his car keys as evidence.  
  
“Smell you later,” she said, saluting before disappearing around the corner.  
  
Dean tried his best not to rush, as he stepped out back one more time to wave at Bobby, trade the usual “Have a good weekend” before finally climbing into his Impala.  He wasn’t really  _excited_.  Maybe a little anxious.  
  
It had been really hard to avoid his television last night with the number of spoilers he’d heard since starting this series earlier in the week; not that he’d made any agreement with Novak to specifically watch together or anything.  
  
Dean told himself that it would just be embarrassing to explain that he had finished the season on his own, in the span of two days.  Marathoning a geeky fantasy series was a lot less shameful when he wasn’t doing it alone.  
  
When he finally made it home, speedwalking from the elevator to his apartment, Dean opened his door to find goddamn Sam sitting at his counter again.  The smell of bacon cheeseburgers hit him before he could open his mouth to yell, so he didn’t.  He breathed in deep, happily, before stepping out of his boots.  
  
“Hey,” Sam started, friendly.  
  
“Burgers accepted, get out,” Dean said curtly.  He walked right past Sam and headed straight for the takeout bag on his counter.  
  
“Dean, I -”  
  
“If you leave now I won’t press charges for breaking and entering.”  
  
“I have a key, it’s not ‘breaking and entering’,” Sam huffed, bitchfacing.  
  
“An illegal copy.” Dean’s hand found three warm, tin-wrapped packages inside the bag.  He almost started drooling.  They were from the Roadhouse.  _Damn, Sammy sure knows my weak spots._  
  
“Why won’t you answer your phone?  Where were you all day?” Sam tried to change topic.  
  
“Uh, at work.  Seriously, do I need to change my locks?” Dean growled, stalking away to the couch while unwrapping one of Ellen’s precious burgers.  
  
“Dean.  What took you so long?” Sam followed Dean to the living room area.  
  
“Uh, dude, it’s not like I was expecting your company or anything,” Dean rolled his eyes, waving the burger at his brother.  He dropped himself to the couch, while Sam hovered awkwardly.  
  
“I thought we could come to some kind of truce,” he ventured.  
  
Dean checked the time on his phone.  He still had a good ten minutes to get rid of Sam; Novak wasn’t supposed to call until eight o’clock.  The messages from Sam popped up, all along the lines of “ _We still need to talk_ ”.  
  
Dean scrolled through them.  “ _Can I come over to talk_ ”, “ _I’ll even bring Roadhouse cheeseburgers_ ”, and “ _come on Dean pick up the phone_ ”.  
  
“Really, Sam, five missed calls?  You’re like a one night stand nightmare.”  
  
“I just don’t want this to get out of control.”  Sam still wouldn’t sit down.  He stood, fidgeting.  
  
Dean leaned back, taking it in and grinning.  The waiting really was getting to Sam.  Two days, a whole two days of silence, and he couldn’t stand it anymore.  
  
It was beautiful.  
  
“I’m not planning anything, Sam.  I told you I’m done with this shit.”  
  
Sam narrowed his eyes, but didn’t say anything.  Aw.  The poor guy wanted to believe him.  It was priceless, really.  
  
“I don’t know what else to say, man.”  Dean fought to keep a serious face.  “Really, what could I possibly do to get back at you for this?”  
  
“I don’t know, I just can’t shake the feeling that you’re up to something.  I’m anxious every time I get into my car, I have to check for plastic wrap whenever I use the toilet -”  
  
Dean’s phone started vibrating in his hands.  When he looked down, it showed a 1-800 number.  Shit.  It was definitely him.  
  
Dean’s mind raced, trying to calculate how long it would take to physically remove Sam from his apartment.  Too long, at least.  If he didn’t accept the call, would Novak even try again?  
  
His brother was still rambling on, “Even though I  _know_  there’s no way you could have gotten into -”  
  
In a moment of panic, Dean answered the phone, cutting Sammy off mid-sentence.  “You’re early,” he breathed.  
  
“Uh… ”  That was all Dean needed to hear to recognise that gruff voice.  He could feel himself grinning.  
  
“So I am.  Just by a few minutes, is that okay?” Novak asked, low and a little worried.  
  
“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine.  Just give me one second,” Dean said, dropping the phone to hold it against his collar.  He stood and started gesturing at Sam to leave.  “I have to take this, your time’s up.”  
  
“Is that a girl?” Sam asked, almost in a whisper.  A smile was fighting to claim his mouth.  “You gave her your number?”  
  
“So what?  I mean, no, it’s not a -” the word ‘girl’ didn’t want to come out of his throat.  He scowled and pushed at Sam.  “Aren’t you leaving?”  
  
Sam did smile, his mouth open in a silent laugh.  “Yeah, yeah, okay.”  He gathered his things, his jacket and bookbag which were spread over the counter.  
  
Dean watched him carefully, didn’t dare lift the phone again until his brother was gone.  Sam paused and looked at him again.  
  
“Tomorrow?” He asked.  
  
“I swear, I will throw this burger at you, Sammy.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes.  “I’ll text you.”  
  
Dean stalked Sam right up until to the front entrance, closing the door on his stupid laughing face, and locking it.  Not that  _that_  ever stopped the little shit.  
  
“Hey,” he said into the phone, still watching Sam’s retreating back through the pinhole in his door, to make sure he was really gone.  
  
“Can I ask?” Novak sounded amused.  
  
“Just my brother.  With peace offerings.”  
  
Sam turned the far corner, so Dean could no longer see him.  He drew himself up and went straight back to the couch.  
  
“Ah.  What does one bring to placate Dean Winchester?” Novak prompted.  It was weird, he knew Dean’s full name, yet Dean didn’t even know his fake first name.  
  
“Bacon cheeseburgers,” Dean replied hurriedly as he stepped over the back of the couch, too impatient to go around.  He snatched up the remote.  “Okay, let’s get our watch on.”  
  
“Game of Thrones again?”  
  
“Yes, go go go!” He groaned at the response time of his smart TV.  “My TV is so slow,” he complained, cursing.  
  
Novak hummed, almost a laugh. “I didn’t think you were this… invested, last time.”  
  
“Yeah, well, the tech girl at work said that that Joffrey kid becomes king,” Dean rushed out.  “Obviously I have to watch before anything else gets spoiled for me.”  
  
Novak chuckled again, a low rumble of his voice.  “So, do you work in an office?”  
  
“What?  No, why?”  Dean asked distractedly.  He was repeatedly pushing the Netflix button on his remote while the computer of the TV was still booting up.  
  
“Offices usually have tech departments.”  
  
“Oh.  No, I’m a mechanic.”  Dean tapped the (currently useless) remote against his knee.  “Charlie is actually a friend, she helps my boss out because he’s old and technologically incompetent -  _damnit_ , it’s loading so slow!”  
  
“Just give it a second, Dean.”  
  
His anxious tapping stopped.  “Yeah.  Do you have it open yet?”  
  
“Ready and waiting,” Novak said, and Dean thought he could hear a bit of a smile.  This guy was almost completely monotonous, so Dean found it hard to discern any kind emotion from him whatsoever.  Well, that was perfect for his job, he supposed.  But it did make for fairly stiff conversations.  
  
But that was how Dean liked it, anyway.  Precise, to the point.  
  
Finally the red-bordered Netflix menu appeared and he wasted no time opening up where they’d left off last.  “Okay, hit go,” he said.  He might have sounded a little giddy.  But it was a real manly kind of excitement.  
  
“Roger that,” Novak replied, and it gave Dean a small smile.  
  
They picked up right where they had left off, watching right into the second season, stopping only for bathroom breaks for Dean.  He finished off all the burgers Sam had brought him, washing them down with several beers that made him ask Novak to pause the show, leaving his phone on the coffee table and dashing off to the bathroom.  
  
It was well past three in the morning this time when they decided to stop.  Novak was explaining some things again, and Dean might have been a little tipsy at that point, having gone through a 12-pack in the course of the evening.  He was just enjoying the sound of Novak’s voice, asking questions not because he was genuinely curious anymore but because it was amazing how much Novak could talk once he got going.  
  
“But why would they change her name in the TV show?” Dean asked, grinning to himself.  ‘Why’ questions prompted the longest answers.  
  
His voice, it was so unusual.  Like he was always grumpy, although Dean could tell now that he was quite enthusiastic about the subject matter.  It was a couple seconds before Dean realised that he had finished talking.  
  
“Dean?  Are you asleep?”  
  
“Hmm, ’m here,” Dean mumbled happily.  
  
“I think you should go to sleep,” Novak suggested.  
  
“It’s Friday.”  
  
“You’re barely even awake, come on.”  
  
“What are you gunna do?”  A part of Dean was embarrassed and wanted to hang up.  Another part of him was internally cackling.  
  
“Dean.  Turn off your TV.”  
  
“Yessir,” Dean mocked, saluting even though he knew Novak couldn’t see it.  He lifted his remote and hit the power button, causing the Netflix menu to disappear.  
  
“Now get up and go to your room.”  
  
“This is my room.  It’s open,” Dean heard himself saying.  He wished he made more sense.  
  
“Okay, get into your bed,” Novak commanded.  
  
“Yessir,” Dean said again, this time much more flirty than he really would have liked.  
  
He had a bit of a head rush when he climbed off the sofa but easily stumbled across the room to the bed.  For a second time, he crawled right in fully clothed.  
  
“I never sleep like this,” he complained.  
  
“Like what?”  
  
“In my day clothes.  It’s dirty.”  
  
“So take them off,” Novak reasoned.  
  
“Yeah,” Dean was already pulling off his shirt, abandoning his phone for the moment.  With just his feet, he managed to peel off his socks.  
  
When he picked up the phone again, it was to smirk and mutter, “Should I take off my pants, too?”  
  
“ _That_  would certainly make things more interesting,” Novak mused, flirting right back.  
  
_Shit._  
  
But all Dean could do in reply was laugh.  Novak chuckled a little at first, then he grew quiet as Dean continued to cackle.  
  
“Are you drunk?”  
  
“No,” Dean scoffed.  
  
“Dean.”  Novak pressed, disbelieving.  
  
“Another thing, what am I supposed to call you?”  
  
“...I go by Officer Novak.”  
  
“I’m not calling you that,” Dean said, rolling his eyes.  
  
“It’s the only name you’ll get,” he warned.  
  
“Yeah, yeah.  But come on, your character has to have a given name, right?”  
  
“James.  It’s James Novak.”  
  
Dean snorted lightly, still chuckling.  “Jimmy, huh?”  
  
Novak just sighed.  “You are intoxicated, Dean.”  
  
“Dude, okay!  I had a few beers, alright?  But it takes a lot more than that for me to feel anything at all, I swear.”  
  
“Do you… want to get off?”  
  
Alarm sirens started going off in Dean’s head.  
  
“What?!  No!  Dude, no,” he rushed, suddenly very self-conscious at being shirtless.  Even though Novak couldn’t see him, he pulled his covers up.  
  
Novak’s voice was quiet.  “It can be real quick,” he promised.  
  
“I was just teasing, man,” he forced a laugh.  He quickly changed the subject.  “Why don’t we, uh, set a day for next time?  Season two, right?”  
  
“Season two,” Novak agreed.  
  
It turns out they were both busy the following night.  
  
“The day after,” Novak offered.  “Same time?”  
  
“Sounds great,” Dean replied, plastered a fake grin on his face.  He said goodbyes and got off the phone quickly after that, dropping it like it burned him.  
  
Sleep did not come easily.  He lay there, too drowsy to lift himself up and go brush his teeth, but somehow restless.  
  
_‘Should I take off my pants’_ , he recited inwardly, rubbing his face as if it could erase the memory.  What the hell had gotten into him?  
  
He needed some decent porn, he decided.  He reached for his phone again and pulled up the Busty Asian Beauties app.  
  
\--  
  
The following two days did  _not_  go as planned.  By the time their next ‘date’ was approaching, Dean was such a wreck he decided that he couldn’t go through with it anymore.  
  
He’d woken up that day with the inside of his skull on fire and the disgusting reek of vomit somewhere nearby.  It was the feeling of a dire situation with his bladder that had pulled him to consciousness, though, and he knew it was well past time to deal with that problem.  Dragging himself to plant his feet on the floor, he quickly learned where the smell was coming from.  
  
He blinked down at where his toes were covered in the mess, missing a beat before he really registered that he’d stepped in his own puke.  As soon as he did, though, it was a battle not to hurl again right there.  
  
So he spent quite a bit of time in the bathroom that morning.  He didn’t actually throw up again, but every time he got up to go back to bed, the world spun and his stomach lurched in warning, so he opted for dozing on the bathroom floor.  
  
There was a perfectly good reason he was like this.  
  
His attempt to hook up with the Cobalt Room girl had ended dismally.  It wasn’t even that she had moved on to someone else after he’d missed only a single Friday night.  Dean could handle a lady going somewhere else to get it, no problem.  That wasn’t it.  
  
It also didn’t help that he’d gone straight to the bar and started shooting mystery mixes.  He’d started fixating, panicking.  He’d watch Starla - no, not Starla, whatever - grinding some new guy on the dance floor, and all he could think was that he’d passed  _that_ up.  
  
He’d actually skipped out on a hot Friday night date just to have a geekfest with a gay phone actor.  Then there was that niggling bit of guilt about the  _flirting_  they’d done, which had driven him straight to the largest bottle of Jack in his cabinet.  
  
No, not the smartest move he’d ever made.  And maybe it had been a long time since he’d gotten blackout drunk.  And maybe his tolerance really wasn’t what it used to be.  
  
And just maybe, missing out on one girl who’d played hard to get and then jumped on the next dick that came her way wasn’t a reflection on Dean at all.  
  
None of that mattered, though.  Dean was done with the gay hotline prank.  He’d already gotten some decent charges in on Sam’s card.  What was the point in carrying on when it just meant that Dean had to clean up his own puke off his apartment floor?  
  
After forcing himself to make toast and chug water, he collapsed back into bed, his legs aching the whole way as if he’d run a marathon instead of attempting to poison himself with alcohol last night.  He slept the rest of the day away, drifting in and out uneasily.  
  
It was late afternoon by the time Dean was functioning normally again.  He went about his routine as if it was a regular Sunday morning - as if he could just hit reset on this whole weekend, though it was basically over already.  
  
He steadfastly avoided his phone.  It remained on the bedside table, still plugged in and draining power even though it was fully charge, something that normally would bother him.  
  
He just couldn’t bring himself to touch the stupid thing.  It was probably just full of notifications from Sam, anyway.  He turned on some TV to distract him, pretending he couldn’t even see their show in his Recently Watched list.  
  
Waiting for eight o'clock seemed to make it come that much slower - though of course, he  _wasn't_  waiting for it.  
  
Eight o'clock could go fuck itself.  
  
But just knowing it would ring any second now, it became suspenseful.  Which was the opposite of what Dean wanted.  No suspense, no importance, no nothing.  So he gritted his teeth and jumped up, climbing over the couch to snatch the phone before it could ring.  
  
He turned off the ringer and instantly some of the tension left him.  Yes, that was better.  Now nothing would happen, no calling attention to -  
  
The phone lit up in his hands.  Incoming call.  "Unknown number", it read, with those 1-800 digits he was starting to recognize.  Fuck.  
  
And Dean, idiot that he was, automatically hit ‘answer’ instead of ‘ignore’.  
  
"Hey," he cringed.  
  
"Hello, Dean," came that gruff voice Dean was becoming so fond of.  
  
He brought a hand up to rub his eyes. He wanted to call the whole thing off, but instead what came out when he opened his mouth was, "Season three?"  
  
"Already loaded."  
  
Dean slumped in defeat.  _Might as well_.  "Ah, give me a sec."  
  
They watched until just after midnight, which apparently was ample time for Dean to calm down.  He started asking questions again, started forgetting to reign in his reactions to all the dramatic scandals which their show never failed to deliver on.  Novak was laughing at him, which made him laugh too.  
  
The guy wasn't so bad. It wasn't his fault that Dean struck out with Starla -  _Dean_ was the one who agreed to a Friday night geek out.  Novak was just the guy who offered one.  
  
Besides, it was still a quality prank. It would be a shame not to go for gold, make Sam's credit card bill absolutely monstrous.  
  
Novak was trying to start a new episode, asking him if he was ready so they could play in sync, when Dean realised just how fucking bagged he was.  He'd felt like shit all day and now that he was finally relaxed, settled into the couch cushions, he felt like he could pass out then and there.  
  
"Oh man, I don't think I can stay awake for another one," he moaned.  
  
"Oh.  Is it boring you?"  
  
"What?  No, no.  I just - I had a shitty day.  I'm beat."  
  
"Oh.  Are you unwell?"  
  
Dean couldn't admit that he'd been sick.  The idea that he actually had a hangover, it was just embarrassing. He replied absently, "No, I'm fine.  Yeah.  I'm good."  
  
His eyes had fluttered closed.  
  
"That's good," Novak said.  It almost sounded far away.  "Because I was worried about you."  
  
Dean's eyes came open in confusion.  "Why would you worry?"  
  
"Well.  I thought you might be feeling under the weather after last night."  
  
"Last night."  Dean repeated, feeling nauseous all over again.  "What about last night?"  
  
"Weren't you fairly intoxicated?"  
  
"How... do you know that?"  
  
Novak breathed against his mic.  Maybe a sigh?  "I guess you were more drunk than I realised.  You called me, Dean."  
  
Dean's mind was racing then, analysing every one of those thoughts that had haunted him when he'd woken up today.  Mostly, they had been anger.  
  
"I'm sorry," he blurted, "I'm an angry drunk."  It wasn't true.  He was the happiest drunk he'd ever met.  
  
Novak chuckled.  "Then I guess I'm lucky that I got the softer side of you."  
  
Dean’s face scrunched in confusion.  Last night, he’d been miserable.  Pissed off that he missed some action.  Embarrassed at the reason why.  Resentful, for sure.  But  _soft_?  That didn't add up.  
  
"Wait a second."  He realised, "I don't have a phone number for you.  How did I- ?"  
  
"You really don't remember anything?"  
  
Dean remembered, all right.  He remembered finishing the bottle and falling asleep at balls o'clock.  How there was possibly time for them to have had a conversation he didn't know about was lost on him.  
  
"You called the hotline.  Repeatedly.  You actually got yourself blacklisted for cussing out an operator, but when I got the notification I reversed that right away.  I explained that I had double booked myself, that we were supposed to have an appointment."  
  
"But we weren't."  
  
"That's right. We didn't. "  
  
"You lied?"  
  
"You're welcome."  
  
Dean felt himself grinning.  "Blacklisted from a gay chat hotline, huh. Classy."  
  
"I don't think that's an accurate term.  I'd maybe use 'impudent'."  
  
"Was I impudent?"  Dean was a little hot.  Shit, he'd never done this.  Asking what he'd done while blackout drunk.  Whenever he couldn't remember the night before, he was always fairly certain of his conduct - that he just had a good time.  This was completely different.  
  
"Not with me, you weren't," Novak laughed.  
  
Dean scowled.  "So are you going to tell me what I said?"  
  
He hesitated.  "I don't think I remember."  
  
He was deadpan as ever, so it took Dean a few moments to process that he was teasing.  
  
"This isn't funny!  I've never drunk dialed anyone before!"  But as the words came out of his mouth, Dean already regretted them.  It was true, and it sent a crippling embarrassment through him.  Especially through his face, which was burning now.  
  
God fucking damn it.  
  
"Aren't I lucky then," Novak replied quietly.  He always sounded so goddamn serious.  
  
"Argh," Dean covered his eyes.  "It's sickening how much you're enjoying this."  
  
"You're an amusing person, Dean."  
  
He thought he could hear a grin in the guy's voice.  
  
"Just shut up and play the next episode, dickbag," Dean growled.  
  
"Alright," Novak said.  
  
While the theme song was playing, Dean realised that he had just gone back on his decision to stop watching.  Novak sure had been quick to accept that.  
  
Of course he would.  The longer they stayed on, the more money this guy made.  That’s all this was, after all.

 

* * *

_**Cas POV**_

"Good boy," he breathed, idly running a palm over the front of his pants.  Normally he'd be so worked up he wouldn't be able to refrain from jerking it.  But he was having a hard time keeping his cock interested today.  
  
Not that it was a requirement to do his job, anyway.  But Cas wasn't just in this line of employment for the great pay - he did this because he enjoyed it.  Or at least, he usually did.  
  
Right now, though, he was just so -  _bored_.  
  
His client was whining, trying so hard to keep it in.  "Please, I can't - I'm-"  
  
"Are you questioning orders?" Cas barked, annoyed.  A thought crossed his mind:  _Dean wouldn't beg so easily_.  
  
The man's breath hitched.  He loved being yelled at.  "N- sir, no sir," he moaned.  
  
"I didn't think so."  
  
Dean wouldn't be so obedient, either.  
  
But that was just it, wasn't it?  He was  _that_  frustrated over not being able to do this with Dean.   Dean, full of accidental flirtations and immediate retractions.  Who ran scared every time Cas attempted to initiate with him.  
  
Dean was such a horrible tease that it was affecting Cas' performance at work.  That was unforgivable.  
  
"You're going to service me properly tonight," he grumbled, thoughts of Dean making him more spiteful than he meant to be.  
  
"What?  Aren't you going to fuck me?"  
  
That's right.  They had a regular script.  How could he let himself get so distracted?  
  
"Did I give you permission to ask questions?!"  
  
Cas would just have to roll with it now.  
  
"Ah, n-no sir," he answered shakily.  At least the client was responding well.  Cas could make this work, he could use his frustration towards Dean to get his client off.  
  
"P-permission to speak, sir?"  
  
"Denied," Cas growled.  "On your knees," he commanded, imagining it was Dean's voice on the other end, Dean at his mercy finally.  
  
"Yes, sir," the man said, trying to sound defeated.  He was a horrible actor, it was obvious how thoroughly he enjoyed the change in script.  
  
Dean wouldn't have gone along, though.  " _Fuck off_ ," he'd say.  " _Like hell I would_."  
  
"You're asking for a smack, aren't you?"  Cas' eyes fluttered closed.  He was straining against his pants now, his dick so swollen it ached.  He pushed down on it, rubbing with his palm.  
  
Dean was going to drive him to distraction, and he wasn't even here.  
  
"I'm sorry, sir, I will behave," the client murmured, too compliant.  
  
" _Bring it on, asshat_ ," Dean would've challenged him, a smirk audible in his tone.  
  
Cas had his hand wrapped around the head of his dick now.  He ran a gentle thumb upwards, keeping the skin in place.  
  
"I'd hit you across the face with my cock," he uttered, trying to keep the strain out of his voice as his hand starting working up and down.  
  
"Ahh-" the client lost all articulation, his voice stuck in his throat -  
  
But Dean would scoff, bluffing terribly.  " _Isn't it embarrassing for you to wave that limp thing around_?"  
  
Cas grunted a chuckle at his imaginary Dean's attempt to fight back when his uneven tone betrayed how turned on he really was.  
  
"We both know you're just a bitch.  Take it already, suck me properly, bitch," Cas spat out, trying to push any button that might pull some sweet noise from Dean.  
  
And it would work, too.  Dean would sputter his reply, shocked at how rough Cas could be with him.  " _What the fuck, Cas?_ " He would ask, but his voice would catch in his throat and it just drove Cas wild.  
  
"I'd shove it down your throat, make you choke -"  
  
Dean would cuss.  " _Cut it out, man_ ," he'd try.  
  
"Fuck your face so you can't even breathe-"  
  
" _Cas, seriously_ ," Dean warned.  
  
Cas ignored him, humming in appreciation.  Dean's struggle to hold out was titillating.  It made Cas' hand squeeze even tighter.  He rubbed over where precum was leaking, so when he shifted back to jerking it was wet and slippery.  He didn't bother reigning in his pleasure.  
  
"So good," he praised, imagining Dean on his knees, his mouth locked open for Cas.  Bet he had such perfect cocksucking lips, too.  
  
He found the perfect rhythm, listening to Dean's attempts to protest while he failed to hide that he was touching himself too now.  It felt so good, Cas never wanted to come.  He wanted to stay just like this, Dean choking back moans, his own palm sliding up and down like Dean's tongue on his cock.  
  
" _Come on, man, I'm not - this is - ah -_ "  
  
Cas didn't bother replying.  He let Dean know how amazing he was feeling by humming into his mic.  
  
" _Cas_..." Dean whispered, too far gone for the resistance charade.  " _Are you... really_?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm - mmm," Cas lost his vocal control then.  
  
"Ah, fuck, ahh!" the client was yelling, interrupting Cas' fantasy.  He came with a shout, making Cas stop his ministrations entirely.  
  
Dean wouldn't come so loudly, Cas thought with a frown.  He would probably just -  
  
But the client panted heavily in his ear, unabashedly sated.  "That was amazing," he managed.  
  
Cas couldn't come up with a reply.  His hand was still on his dick, dying to stroke it.  But he just couldn't while listening to his client's ragged breath.  
  
"Wow, fifteen minutes? Were you trying to get rid of me early, Novak?" Bartholomew laughed.  
  
"No, not at all," Cas finally found his voice.  "I just thought you were enjoying the new script."  
  
"You thought right," he said.  "Let's just draw it out some more, next time?"  
  
"I still have another hour and a half reserved," Cas offered.  He winced as he tried to smooth his palm over his cockhead and it just hurt, oversensitive now.  His dick was not amused at the current interruption.  
  
"No, no," Bartholomew replied curtly.  "I am very much finished."  
  
"I apologise," Cas said, trying to actually feel sorry.  But he could barely wait to hang up and get back to his imaginary Dean.  "I will make it worth your while tomorrow."  
  
"I expect you shall.  Until then." And he was gone.  
  
Fucking _finally_.  Cas threw his headset off, leaned back and closed his eyes.  
  
" _Cas_..." Dean was moaning his name.  Shit.  His real name.  " _I need_..."  
  
"I know," Cas murmured, too far gone to care at the implications.  "I know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I never intended to write Cas POV, I was just having trouble writing part 3... oops_


	3. Chapter 3

It wasn’t long before Dean and Novak had completed the series.  A surprise, considering they had adopted the habit of wasting time talking about nothing instead of actually watching.  They picked up as soon as Dean finished at work and didn't stop until Novak announced that he was out of time.

It was when Dean noticed that Novak had to leave at midnight sharp, every night this week, that he realised the guy had rearranged his working schedule.  His actual weekday appointments must have been pushed to twelve o’clock, possibly even because of Dean.

He tried not to fixate on it.  He really did.  But today, even through the usual monotone, Novak sounded beat.

“How late were you working?” Dean asked, hoping the snag in his throat around the term ‘work’ wasn’t an audible one.  It was easy to forget that his new friend was actually a sex worker, especially when it seemed the guy didn’t have a sexy bone in his body.

Or rather, he didn’t have a very sexy  _verbal_  arsenal.  Dean had never seen the man, of course.

Novak yawned again.  “Three, four a.m.?  It was pretty unusual, to be honest.”

A tightness settled in Dean’s chest.  Guilt, fluttering the same way panic did.  “We can do this another time,” he said, his words tumbling out in a rush.

There was the low rumble of Novak chuckling.  “I’d rather keep our appointment, Dean.”

But he yawned again, and it caused Dean’s eyebrows to knit together.

“You’re exhausted, I can tell,” he pressed.

Dean listened to his breath hitch, for a moment seemingly on the edge of arguing, but the phone actor’s professionalism won out.  His gruff voice was quiet and polite when he spoke next.

“If it wasn’t you, I’d have a real client lined up.”

Dean choked at that, immediately laughing to cover it up.  The idea that at this very moment, if not for Dean, his new friend would be sweet talking a stranger into jerking off - with that curt, grumbly, bordering socially awkward manner of speech that he had - it made Dean’s cheeks flush hot, trying to reconcile the whole thing.

“I’m just an imaginary client, then, am I?”  He joked loudly.  “And here I thought I was a paying customer.”

“Well,” Novak said, thoughtful, “it’s debatable whether you’re technically ‘paying’.  And I can’t really call you a customer because you refuse to accept service.”

If Dean had a protest, it died in his throat as the word ‘service’ echoed in his head.

“I guess that makes you a philanthropic agent,” Novak concluded.

“What,  _charity?_  That’s what this is?”

He hummed in disagreement.  “No, you’re just an agent.  You’re inducing your brother’s donations. Granted, you’re doing it without his knowledge or consent, but still.  Yes, charitable.”

There was that voice in Dean’s head, tiny now, reminding him that he was supposed to be cutting back on the teasing.  That it was a dangerous road.

But it was also entertaining.

“Yeah?  Tell me, the organization you’re with, what kinds of community service do they provide?”

Dean could hear Novak chuckle, and it made his grin even wider.  “I just want to make sure the money is going towards a good cause,” he continued.

“We offer all kinds of relief for people in need,” Novak replied, playing along.

“That’s kind of vague, Novak,” Dean tried to sound unimpressed.  His heart was racing as he concentrated on not giggling like an idiot. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Name one community service that you’re actually proud of accomplishing.”

“I can keep a client edging for hours.”

Dean’s grin dropped.  When half a moment went by without a reply, Novak swore.  Dean felt bad that his silence was mistaken for upset, but he needed a second to process this information.  Edging.  Over the phone.

“I shouldn’t have said that, I’m sorry,” Novak said hurriedly.  “I didn’t mean to -”

“Isn’t that a self control thing?”

It was Novak’s turn to grow quiet.

“How can you take credit for that?”  Dean asked.

“Dean.”  Novak’s tone was warning.  “I shouldn’t talk about other clients...”

“Seriously, man!” Dean pressed.  It just annoyed him that this guy was bragging about something so ridiculous.  Also, there was something exciting about calling him out on it.

Dean scoffed, “It’s not like you can actually stop someone from finishing off early.”

“I can if he needs my voice in order to come.”

And then it was weird.  Where Dean had almost been laughing, suddenly he was still.  He might have even been holding his breath, he wasn’t sure.  His heart was still pounding.  Though Novak spoke in a low monotone as ever, the word ‘come’ was way too loud in Dean’s ears.

“Oh,” was all he could say.  It was the first time that they had, out loud, acknowledged the reality of the whole sex worker thing, since that awful weekend where Dean got too drunk.

Shit, he’d known this was a bad conversational route.  And he’d  _promised_  to stop with the teasing!  It was just asking for awkward shit like this.

“You’re uncomfortable now,” Novak observed.

“No, I -”  Dean shifted nervously, and realised his dick had become interested in the conversation.   _Shit._

He was painfully aware of himself getting hard now.  It was the thought of controlled orgasms, of course.  It was always fun when a girl held off just that little bit when he was about to blow; it made for a much happier ending.  The idea that someone could do the same, with  _just their voice_  - shit, why did Novak have to mention one of his kinks?

“I was asking for it,” Dean finished, pressing his forehead into his palm in defeat.  The gay phone sex actor had accidentally given him a boner.  Fucking great.

Novak breathed deep as if steadying himself.  “This isn’t the first time I’ve spoken out of turn.”

“What?”  Dean’s hard on was pressed uncomfortably against his fly.  He shifted his legs to alleviate it, but it only kind of worked.

Novak carried on, completely unaware of Dean’s plight, “I can put in a request for another actor for you.”

“Another - what are you talking about?”  Dean grumbled, distracted and confused.

“I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

 _“No,_  no,” Dean said emphatically, “it’s fine, you’re - please, don’t - uh.  I mean, I’d rather have you.”

“Dean.”  Novak said, stiffly.  “My line of work is offensive to you.”

“That is  _not_ it,” he blurted, “I have tons of respect for sex workers!”

There was a huff on Novak’s end.  He was chuckling.  “Okay,”he said.

“I’m serious!  Look, you have to hear all about my work days.  Let’s hear about yours, then.”

“Dean,” he warned.

“What?  You should be proud about it.  I bet you make loads more than me,” Dean scoffed, closing his eyes and willing his erection to just go away already.   _Please._

“Stop that.  Client privacy is a very serious -”

“Come on, it’s not like you need to name names -”

_“Dean.”_

“Really,” Dean urged.  He fished for a topic that was generic enough.  “What are your hours even like?”

Novak did not answer for a moment.  Then he sighed, and Dean knew he had won.  “Recently, my schedule has been quite full.  I regularly take trial calls for my category, but I have already given notice that I won’t be able to continue.”

“You serious?  You’re not just a part-timer?”

“No, Dean.  I work seven days a week.”

The atmosphere had gone a little weird, Dean had to admit.  He was mostly pushing the conversation because he needed a distraction from the way his dick was still standing at attention.

So it wasn’t Dean’s intention to be offensive, but he wasn’t sure what the protocol was in this situation.  Whatever might have been the right thing to say, it definitely wasn’t what he said next.

“Why do you need so much money?”  Dean immediately wanted to hit himself.

Thank God Novak had enough grace for the both of them.  He  _laughed._  “You’re assuming I get a decent cut of the fee you pay.”

“Huh.  They ripping you off over there?”  Dean teased, taking Novak’s lead.

There was a shuffling sound on Novak’s end.  Maybe he’d blown air against the mic.  “No, I was only joking.  Your assumptions are not wrong.”

Dean processed this.  Was Novak saying he  _did_ need a lot of money?  But he wasn’t saying why.   _Don’t push it, Dean._

He smirked instead.  “Are you really that popular, Jimmy?”

“That’s a horrible nickname, stop it,” Novak grumbled, unable to hide that he was laughing as he spoke.  “And yes.  I have ...an unusual number of regular clients.”

Dean rolled his eyes.  “You are just too modest, Jimmy.”

“I have no reason to be modest, Dean.  I am very good at my job.”

“Hah!  Yeah,  _that’s_ believable!”

“You are too simple-minded, Dean.  I have a very efficient system worked out; keeping regular clients is way more reliable and lucrative than taking long shifts and waiting for callers.”

Dean was laughing.  “I don’t know why I’m surprised.”

“What is surprising about that?”

“Well... yeah, I knew you were a serious guy.  But I didn’t think you took this job so seriously.”

“What did you think, Dean?”

“I…”  Dean shrugged, feeling dumb.  It was working, though.  He was only half-hard now.  “I don’t know what I thought.”

“You underestimate me,”Novak said.  He was far from offended; probably even amused.  It was hard to tell, with him.

Dean glanced around, a nervous habit, and realised that his netflix menu was open, had just been sitting there waiting this whole time.  They still hadn’t started a new show.  Dean wasn’t sure if they even would, now.  He didn’t know where they were going anymore.

It scared him, a little bit.  He turned off the TV so he didn’t have to be reminded of any of that.

“What’s the system,” he asked, desperate for anything but quiet.

“What do you mean?”

“You said you have a system.  How you snag regulars.”

Novak chuckled.  “The system is  _having_  regulars.  How I engage clients, that’s simple psychology.”

“Psychology!  You’re so full of it.”

“No, it’s true,” Novak insisted, talking a bit faster.  “Often callers are very vocal about what they need, but even then there are things they don’t know how to ask for, or don’t really know they like.  So success does come down to having a good intuition.”

“Intuition,” Dean repeated with disbelief.

“It’s just reading people,” he elaborated.  “Right from day one, I am constantly assessing my clients’ preferences.”

“Yeah?  So, did you ‘assess’ me on day one?  What did your  _intuition_ say about me?”

Maybe it was because Dean was mocking him now.  Maybe it was just a bit of sharp banter.  To throw Dean off.  Either way, Novak replied in complete seriousness.

“Your self control is a mess.  You wouldn’t last five minutes.”

Dean’s mouth hung open, surprised.  He should know better by now.  “Isn’t there something in your strict little rulebook about insulting clients?”

“I’m just stating fact.  Besides, if I’m not mistaken, you’d enjoy a few insults too.”

Dean laughed, hard, but his face was hot now.  For a split second there, he’d imagined how Novak’s gruff tone would work itself around a few cuss words - none of which Dean had ever actually heard him pronounce .

It did not do good things for his attempt to ignore the fact that his dick had not totally gone soft yet.  At this rate, that was starting to look impossible.

_Never thought I’d have to remind myself to clean the pipes more often._

“Shit, anything else I should know about myself?”  Dean said, trying to sound light-hearted.

He could have sworn he heard a smile when Novak said, “You wouldn’t need the air force character, that’s for sure.  Just plain old me would do.”

Dean snorted, comparing the military persona who had answered his call on the first day and the nerdy, fantasy series fanatic he’d come to know since.  “Yeah, maybe if you grew a pair of tits, man.”

Finally he heard a small chuckle on the other end of the line.  “You don’t believe me,” he accused.

“No, it’s nothing personal, man, I just need a higher voice to get my rocks off, you know?”  Dean insisted, as if he wasn’t already raring to go.  Hell, the way things were going, he’d probably dive into his pants the second he was off the phone.

He clenched his free hand into a fist to keep it in line.

Novak sniffed.  “If you think so.”

Dean must have been out of his mind, that it sounded like a challenge to him.  When he was way too horny to deal with this just now.

_I need to get off the phone.  Fast._

His mouth was working on its own, though.  “Try me,” it said.

Novak blew out suddenly, his breath hitting the phone at a bad angle.  Microphone, Dean corrected.  The guy was on a headset.  “ _Way ahead of you,”_  Novak said.

He didn’t say anything more, and for a moment there was just some shuffling noise on the line.  Dean’s sniggering stopped as he got curious.

“What are you…”  Then an awful sensation settled in his stomach, like he’d swallowed a rock.

“Hazard a guess, Dean.”  Novak said, sarcastic even though his voice strained over Dean's name.

“Woah, is that - custom.. customary?”  Dean asked, his mind racing.  Phone sex was all one-sided, right?  The actors were usually playing solitaire or some shit while on the line.

“What?  Like you'd do it alone,” Novak said as if that was obvious.  Something made him hiss slightly.  “Your turn,” he said through his teeth.

Dean could feel his face growing bright red, as if he was on display.  As if Novak could see the solid tent in his jeans.  “Come on, you don’t really expect -”

“No, Dean.  If I can’t get you off - well, fair’s fair.  But refusing to cooperate, that’s just cheating.”

Dean thought he had a reply, but he just sat there listening to his heart beat wildly, one fist balled up in his sheets.  Shit.  Novak wasn’t really sitting there with his junk in hand.

“ _Pull it out, Dean,”_  Novak growled.

And he did.  God help him, he did.  But only because it was getting painful.  He quickly undid his fly - and his dick was already out of his boxers, the buttons straining.  Maybe if he’d been in sweatpants, he could’ve just said no, but...

“Are you done?”

“Yeah,” Dean whispered.  He fisted the sheet one more time; he wasn’t doing  _all_  of Novak’s work for him.  “Yeah, it’s - I’m done.”

He was so pushy, rude, even.  Not at all what Dean expected.  Did this guy really have regular clients?  People came back a  _second time?_

“Good boy,” Novak sighed.  “Now, tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“Tell me what you look like.”

Right.  Novak had never seen him.  “I’ve uh, got green eyes-”

“Cute, Dean, but I really don’t care about your eyes at just this moment,” Novak cut him off, growling again.

“Oh.”  Dean looked down at himself.   _Oh._  Suddenly he couldn’t form words.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, I’m still here.”

“Come on,” Novak urged.  “Are you cut?”

“N-nope,” Dean stammered, dizzy.

“Mm, me either.  Are you hard?”

Dean winced.  His dick was jutting up towards his stomach, the head swollen and red.  Shit, he was fucking  _pearling._  He shut his eyes and shook his head.  “N-no,” he stammered.

He heard a small gasp.  “You  _are._  That was fast.”

 _Shut up,_  Dean wanted to say.  Besides, it wasn’t really Novak that had gotten him worked up.  Well, okay, it  _sort_   _of was_  him, but that was long before the bet!  It didn’t count.

Dean’s throat betrayed him, though, and instead of denying anything, he just swallowed noisily.

“Shh, it’s okay.  I’ve been hard this whole time,” Novak hummed.

“No, you haven’t,” Dean challenged, his mouth dry.  He kept his fist clenched shut, his eyes closed.  Although maybe that wasn’t a good idea, because his imagination went into overdrive, at the thought of Novak in the same state Dean was in.  Would his cheeks be flushed as hot as Dean's were just now?

“I swear, it’s distracting.  Do you know how difficult it is to keep talking about fucking  _nothing_  while you’re just teasing me?”

“I wasn’t…” Dean found himself unable to say ‘tease’ just now.  Did Novak know how distracted he’d been this whole time?  Was he just turning it around on him?

This was too creepy - it couldn’t be his regular routine.  Shit.   _He_  was the one cheating!

“You were.  Asking me about my work?  Just reminding me that you’re out of bounds...”

“That’s not -”

“I’m touching myself, Dean.”   Novak interrupted again, breathy.

Shit.  Dean should be vomiting at that, not jerking his hips.  Suddenly the bet seemed trivial, nothing was worth this.  “No,” he croaked.

“I am,” he insisted.  “I like it really light at first.  I lick my hand -” here Novak supplied the sound effects for that much “- and I just twist around the head for a bit.”

Dean might have said “no” again, but the only thing he was certainof was that Novak wasn’t understanding him.  Dean could hear him sigh deeply, enjoying his own ministrations.

Surely he was misinterpreting the sound of heavy breath on Dean’s end.  He must think he was winning this, that he had Dean cornered.  That Dean was bringing his hand up to wipe off a drop of precome that was trickling upwards.  Fuck, no.

He startled himself and banged his head against the headboard behind him.  God only knows how Novak would interpret  _that_  noise.  Dean just pressed his hand to the bed again, palm up so he wouldn’t dirty the sheets.

It wasn’t fair, he’d gone into this already compromised.  He just really needed to jerk off.  And it definitely didn’t have anything to do with this guy’s stupid descriptions.

Novak’s breath hitched.  “With a loose hand, Dean.  Try it, skin back.  You usually use a vice grip, don’t you?”

 _Lucky_   _guess,_  Dean scoffed inwardly.  He kept that straying hand pinned down.

“I’ll tell you something about gay guys,” the voice in his ear was conspiratorial now.  “Everyone wants to fuck a straight guy.  It’s a challenge.”

Dean actually smirked.  “So I’m your challenge-”  he almost said 'Jimmy' again, but stopped.  Now more than ever, he wanted the guy’s actual name.

“What’s your name,” he asked without thinking.

“Uhh,” the noise was a half-moan.  Novak sounded more than a little wrecked.  Acting, of course.  “My - you want my real name?”

“Yeah, I don’t - I’m not calling you ‘officer’, okay,” Dean muttered; it was supposed to be a joke but he couldn’t laugh.

There was only shallow breaths before he whispered an “Okay,” so light that Dean thought he imagined it.

 _“Okay,_  okay?” He demanded, his heart thumping.  But it’d be another fake name, anyway.

“Yeah, I’ll tell you,” he said shakily.  “First name only, and only if you do as you’re told.”

Dean’s jaw clenched, unable to speak.  His dirty hand was still firmly, safely, pressed against the bed, but he was already holding the phone with his shoulder.  His left hand slid down to undo the buttons on his boxers.  He wondered if his breath was just as ragged as Novak's.

“Is that a yes?”

Dean couldn’t voice a commitment like that.  “Your name,” he asked.

Novak chuckled darkly.  “After you cooperate, I’ll tell you.  Lick your hand for me.”

And God help him, Dean brought his hand up to his mouth.  He gathered saliva on his tongue, pooling it there before pressing it against his palm.  It was noisy, wet, and he held the phone close so Novak could hear.

“Good,” came the praise.

“Can’t I just use a lube or-”

Novak wasn’t listening.  “Just keep going like I told you.  You can put me on speakerphone and use two hands.”

Dean didn’t say anything, but obliged.  He laid his cellphone on his chest, holding the base of his dick in his dry hand and wrapping the other hand over the head instead of around it like he fucking needed to do right about now.  It smeared wet, and he fought the instinct to shift his grip.  Not that Novak would know the difference.

“Good boy,” Novak urged, as if he could tell.  “Now rub in circles- remember, slow and gentle, okay?”

Dean tried to say “Okay”, but his throat closed off on him.  His eyes shut tight as he complied, sliding his hand around in a small circle.  Shit, it felt  _nice._

He felt a vibration in his throat, not exactly sure what noise he’d just made, and quickly his palm slipped down the side.  He squeezed his dick with all four fingers wrapped around it, his thumb rested on top.  It was still nowhere near tight enough, but it was better than what Novak had him doing.

“Dean.  What did I say?”  Novak quickly scolded him.  “Keep it light.”

“Fuck, how’d you- ?” Dean complained, obediently sliding his palm up to rest over the tip again.

“When you moan like a slut it kind of gives it away,” he replied, a little short of breath.  It sounded even more obscene now that he was on speaker, announcing from a perch on Dean’s chest instead of speaking quietly into his ear.

“It’s-” Dean winced.  “It’s getting dry.”

“Don’t play dumb, you know what to do about that.”

Right.  Dean swallowed, hard, suddenly aware of how much saliva he was producing.

“Say it, Dean.  What do you have to do?”

He barely even hesitated before replying, “I have to- get it wet...”

"Ah-huh," Novak urged.  It was so strange, so unlike him, to be inarticulate like this.

Dean complied, licking hungrily at his own hand again.  The feeling of a wet palm on his cock again made him hum, but he was quickly brought to his senses when Novak praised him again.

_"That's it, baby."_

_Oh, God no_  - a wave of revulsion made him stop immediately.  He turned over and hid his face under a pillow, gripping it with both hands to keep them busy.

Dean could not go along with this.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"  Novak groaned.  How did he  _know_  what Dean was doing- or not doing?

His sudden flippancy with curse words was not helping Dean's situation either.  He resisted the unbelievable urge to grind his hips into the mattress; he wanted to disappear right about then.

"Don't chicken out on me now," Novak complained.  He didn't sound all that displeased, though.  It made Dean feel dirty.

"Dude, I just can't - please -" Dean didn't even know what he was asking for, only that he was desperate for it.

_"Cas."_

"H-huh?"  Dean was too bewildered to guess what that meant.

 _"It's_   _Cas,"_  Novak repeated, growling again.

"Cas," Dean said automatically, testing the word.  Then it clicked.  "Oh.   _Cas..."_

Novak - no, Cas - was very pleased with that.  He gasped, "Shit - yeah, that's me."

"Okay, Cas, then," Dean breathed, "can you do me a favour?"

"Hah, what's that, baby?"  Cas could barely talk.

"Stop -" Dean moaned, his hips jerking, pushing his erection into the sheets.  "D-don't cuss, man."

"Why not?  It's not like I can help it -" Novak answered, uneven.

"Dude -" Dean was clutching at the back of his head, burying his face in shame.  It was unreal; this couldn't be happening.

"Say it again."

"Say what?" Dean mumbled from under his pillow, glancing at the light from his phone screen.

He sounded wrecked.  "My name."

It was all Dean could do not to buck against his bed like a horny teen.  He groaned, "I can't do this."

"Fucking  _please."_

It made no sense, but Dean could not deny him when he begged like that.  "Fuck, okay,  _Cas!"_

"Holy shit, Dean," Cas groaned.  "You're gunna make me come."

"Cas, stop -"  _stop swearing_  - why did that have such an effect on Dean?  He was losing his mind over Cas' dirty mouth.  'Novak' had always been so polite, almost formal.  Cas, though... he was a different person entirely.  Impatient.  Lewd.

"Fuck, Dean, you are..." he didn't say what Dean was, though; just panted against the phone.

"Don't.  Swear.  Cas," Dean bit out.

He just swore louder.  He told Dean that he was coming.

That was okay, because so was Dean.

He couldn't be sure if he made any more noise, let alone whether it would have been intelligible words if he did.  Climax hit him hard, and all he was aware of was being thoroughly embarrassed.  He'd completely lost control.

Cas, on the other hand, was certainly very verbal during orgasm.  And he seemed to favour Dean's name.

There was heavy breathing on both ends, just for a matter of seconds.  Dean gulped down air, his eyes screwed shut, as if he could pretend he was anywhere other than here, lying on his stomach in his own spend.  His heart rate was still racing when Cas spoke up.

"Dean," he said, so breathless it was more of a whisper.  "Did you just...?"

Why he shied from the word now, Dean could only guess.  But he didn't need to imagine the way the low timbre of Cas' voice carried through the word 'come'.

"Dean?"

He felt dizzy.

"Are you okay?" Cas insisted.

"Yeah, I'm good, I'm -" Dean was forcing himself to talk, but he had no idea what he was saying.  Words, words, he needed words to come out.

If he kept this effort up, it might be vomit that came out instead.

He managed to speak, "So.  Same time tomorrow, right?"

Cas was just silent for an excruciating moment.  "Tomorrow," he repeated.

"Alright, see you then," Dean blurted, not even stopping to berate himself for using the word 'see'.  He hung up quickly and covered his face again.

 _This isn't happening,_  he thought.  But he had to roll out of the wet spot he'd made - proof, that it was already done.


	4. Chapter 4

All day, it had been way too slow at the shop for Dean's liking.  He was looking forward to getting his hands real dirty, to throwing himself at a good transmission mystery.  There seemed to be an endless supply of those when he wasn't in the mood.  So where the fuck were they now?  
  
He was so bored, he couldn't stop his mind from wandering back to Novak - to Cas.  It made him sick to his stomach, how he'd learned that name.  He had no way of knowing if it was real or not anyway.  The question was driving him nuts, though.  It was clearly a shortened version, an uncommon name - fake names weren't supposed to stand out like that.  It would ruin the point of them.  
  
So there was a good chance it was real.  That his friend was a real person - that he truly had a bully for a brother who tricked him into a sewer when they were kids - that when their parents found out about it, they got angry with him for putting little  _Cas_  in danger.  That it was all real.  
  
But then, did it even matter?  It shouldn't.  It definitely shouldn't matter so much that Dean was mulling it over for hours on end, trying to decide whether he believed it or not - which he wasn't doing at all.  A healthy bit of curiosity, that was normal.  And it was really only because all Bobby had given him today was mindless parts installs!  
  
By the time five-o'clock rolled around, Dean was so beyond agitated, he decided that he needed to get out of there.  He didn't even wait around to greet Charlie, which would only be an extra ten minutes or so.  
  
He stuck his head into the office to announce as much.  "Hey Bobby, I'm gunna head out right away, if that's okay."  
  
Bobby looked confused.  With good reason.  Dean rarely ever left on time; it was usually impossible for him to put in a measly eight hour day and then just wash his hands of it.  
  
"I got a - a thing to get to.  So."  Dean said, probably not helping things.  
  
"Yeah, of course.  Get going," Bobby made a shooing gesture.  He seemed annoyed that Dean had interrupted him for something so silly.  
  
But Dean wouldn't  _have_  to leave if he just had something harder to do.  In fact, he would have loved to use work as an excuse to skip tonight's date -  _appointment_.  
  
The anxiety might have even gotten worse once Dean was alone.  The drive home had him obsessing over how he was going to deal with Cas now that he had no out, no escape hatch.  They still hadn't found a new series to watch, and the idea of having to talk made him nauseous thinking about it.  
  
Could Dean really just greet him as if nothing had happened?  That seemed to be his only option, and yet... Dean already knew he'd never be able to erase the name Cas from his brain.  Like a stain that would never come out, and it was hardly just a name.  How was it possible to pretend that he'd gotten the guy's real name in normal circumstances?  
  
How could Dean even utter something as casual as, "Hey, Cas," without - without - yeah, Dean couldn't even say fucking  _hello_.  Just great.  
  
He glanced at his watch.  He had less than an hour to figure this out.  _We just need a good show, that's all_.  
  
He headed straight for Netflix's recommendations the second he walked into his apartment.  It instantly calmed him, browsing series summaries.  There would definitely be something there.  
  
He was considering the balance between what he himself enjoyed in a TV series, and what he thought Novak - Cas - might like.  He realised he didn't know much about the guy.  For the past couple weeks that they'd been talking, he had maybe been avoiding information like that.  
  
Just a name was giving Dean a trust crisis here - he was probably better off not knowing anything more about him.  
  
So Dean focused on his own preferences.  This was good, easy; that was what his Netflix account already knew.  A good old action flick, that would do.  
  
It seemed he had gone through only a handful before one made his jaw drop.  _Garrison Thirteen_ , a military drama about a small group of soldiers stationed to wait in a desert town.  Fairly run of the mill stuff honestly: Dean only rolled his eyes when he read that the protagonist " _becomes torn between cultures and has difficult decisions to face when war seems imminent_ -" blah, blah.  Then he did a double take at the character's name.  
  
 _Air Force lieutenant Jimmy Novak_.  
  
Dean hit 'play' without a second thought, closing his mouth when he realised it was still hanging open.  
  
There was no camp title sequence, which was a plus.  But it opened with a goddamn shower scene, with some guy who was way too pleased with the idea of running water.  
  
Dean couldn't help staring, though.  He wondered if this was the Jimny Novak that Cas had borrowed his pseudonym from.  He had dark hair and crystal blue eyes - post production must have messed with their colour, because they stood out a little too well.  Other than these, all Dean was aware of were the gratuitous muscle shots - much more than was strictly necessary.  The camera was heavily objectifying, but the guy's body kind of deserved it, if Dean was being honest.  He was definitely Hollywood-toned.  
  
Soon someone else entered the shower room, a man with a British accent who strolled in while stripping down.  The new character confirmed Dean's suspicions, calling out "Novak!" and earning the wet man's attention.  
  
It was fucking  _weird_ , no way around it.  For the first time, Dean was glad he had the name Cas to hang on to while watching this scene.  
  
The on-screen Novak smiled, and - he opened the shower curtain?  
  
"What took you so long?"  The TV Novak asked, and Dean almost turned it off then and there, because -  _his voice!_  
  
It's not like Dean actually expected him to sound anything like  _his_  Novak, but it was all sorts of wrong regardless.  Compared to Cas, it was as if this guy had swallowed a tank of helium before stepping in front of the camera.  
  
As if that wasn't bad enough, the second man quickly peeled off his last layer - a v neck that was too deep to begin with - and stepped into the same shower with him.  
  
It immediately cut from the sounds of their laughter to a different scene, but Dean had seen enough.  He turned off his TV altogether, jumping up and backing away as if mere proximity to the thing was dangerous.  
  
It was obvious now why Cas had chosen this name.  _Shit_.  
  
" _Shit, shit, shit,_ " Dean rambled, panicking.  
  
He checked the time.  Fifteen minutes.  He had fifteen minutes to figure this out.  
  
 _Figure what out?_   Would Dean ever be able to talk to him again without picturing water running over TV Novak's bare shoulder muscles?  He was having a hard enough time preparing himself to use the name Cas, never mind this bullshit.  
  
Dean blanched.  No.  There was no way he could go through with it anymore.  He needed  _out_.  He picked up his phone again, racking his brain for someone who would be a decent distraction - he even considered calling Sam, in his desperation.  
  
It was a godsend that Benny was in town.  If he had been on a job, Dean didn’t know what he would have done.  Gone out of his mind, probably.  
  
As it was, Benny answered his message immediately, and within minutes they had made plans to meet up.  _Target practice_ , Benny suggested, of all things.  That was exactly was Dean needed.  
  
He turned his phone off for good measure, and headed straight to their shooting range.  
  
“Why haven’t I seen you all week, bro?”  Benny hollered, as soon as Dean stepped out of his car.  He was standing at the back of his rusty pickup truck, unloading from a storage trunk.  
  
“Didn’t even know you were back, man.”  Dean gave him a hearty clap on the shoulder when he arrived beside him.  
  
Benny just pushed a rifle case into Dean’s hands.  “Take that one,” he said.  
  
They filled two bags with supplies without saying much more, and started up towards the nearest range: trapshooting.  There wasn’t a lot of pleasantries involved in hanging out with Benny.  It was something Dean normally appreciated.  Today, though, the quiet was awkward for him.  
  
It seemed Novak had ruined Dean for that; turned him into a regular motor-mouth, for Christ’s sake.  
  
Dean quickly soured when he realised who had come into his thoughts again.  He elbowed Benny as they walked, fishing for something to say.  Anything.  “When’s the next project?”  
  
“Head out on Wednesday,” Benny supplied, barely glancing over.  
  
“Huh, that’s fast.”  
  
“Yup.”  
  
A silence fell.  
  
Dean fought the urge to say anything more, trying to take Benny’s lead.  He bit his lip to keep anything stupid from coming out of his mouth.  
  
Surprisingly, Benny was the first to speak up again.  “Say, what did you end up doing to your brother?”  
  
“What?”  They had reached the stand.  Dean was digging for a box of clay disks in his bag.  
  
“For your Chevy.”  
  
“Oh, right,” Dean paused, guilty.  The last time he had spoken to Benny was to blow him off because the rims of his Impala were fucked.  Enter Novak.  
  
Dean quickly looked back down, grumbling, “Nothin’ much.”  
  
“Whaddya mean,  _nothin’ much_?”  Benny dropped his hands from his gun case, where he was selecting the numbers on the lock.  He stared at Dean like he’d just busted out the macarena.  
  
“Not  _nothing_ , I mean I haven’t really - I swiped his credit card, that’s about it.  I don’t - I haven’t decided what to -”  
  
But Benny was nodding, so Dean stopped trying to complete the thought.  
  
“Gotta make it good, right?”  He asked.  
  
“Exactly.”  
  
They went back to not talking.  Dean realised that it was preferable, after all.  He couldn’t even trust himself to string a sentence together anymore.  
  
They spent the next couple hours shooting at targets; they moved to stationary targets but before long Dean convinced Benny to go back to the shotgun range.  Projectiles were certainly more expensive, because they were destroyed so quickly, but it was a lot more satisfying to shoot something out of the air than to squint at a circle in the distance.  
  
Benny, being more compliant than usual, agreed easily.  Dean didn't think much on it.  He didn't want to think much at all, just wanted break things.  But Benny seemed to have picked up on his distress, and pointed out as much when they were packing up.  In his own way.  
  
They had agreed to hit up Ellen's bar for burgers, so Dean started towards his car  But Benny’s sudden grip on his elbow made Dean turn back.  
  
“Quentin passed some good stuff on, if you want to try.”  
  
Dean raised an eyebrow in question.  
  
Benny let go of him and went back to securing his storage trunk.  “I mean if you need to unwind.”  
  
“ _Oh_ ,” Dean stepped back, feeling stupid.  He should have realised Benny’s meaning right away; his crew buddy Quentin had a bit of a dope problem.  
  
Benny shrugged.  “I just thought you looked off today, is all.”  
  
“I’m fine,” Dean said quickly.  
  
“That’s cool, we can just do Roadhouse.”  Benny turned to head for the driver side of his truck.  
  
Dean did the same towards his Impala, but he was taking slow backwards steps as he thought the offer over.  It probably would help.  But Benny had taken his reaction as a straight up ‘no’.  
  
 _Fuck it_.  
  
Dean called out to him as he was opening the door.  “We can do both, yeah?”  
  
Benny glanced over, and then flashed a grin.  “Damn right, we can!”  
  
Satisfied, Dean finally turned round and speed-walked over to the Impala.  As he climbed in, he had to pull his phone out of his back pocket so he wouldn’t sit on it.  
  
He got all conflicted, looking at it, wondering what the implications might be for ignoring Novak today.  Would he try at their usual time tomorrow?  Was Sammy still going to be charged for a missed appointment?  One time when Dean was working late and had missed a call from Novak, there had been a sms waiting on his phone with instructions to call the hotline when Dean was available.  A  _text message_ , from Novak.  
  
Dean couldn't bring himself to turn his phone back on and see whether he had one now.  He chucked the stupid thing into his glove box, slamming it shut a little more forcefully than he meant to.  
  
He pulled out of the parking lot, following closely behind the rusty pickup truck that was Benny.  
  
Yes.  Thank god for Benny.  
  
\--  
  
It was two days later that Sam showed up in Dean’s apartment uninvited, for the first time in a while.  At a disgusting hour of the morning.  
  
He hadn’t gone to bed yet that night, so Dean was a little overtired when suddenly the front door opened.  Of course it surprised him.  
  
He managed to keep himself collected, and he refrained at least from jumping up with fright.  His heart was hammering in his chest though, as he glanced over the back of the couch to see stupid Sam’s hulking figure in the doorway.  
  
“What the hell, dude,” he said, trying to sound more calm than he felt.  He knew why Sam was here.  He didn’t want to give the kid any more ammo than he already had.  
  
It didn’t help that his mouth was dry as fuck.  He tried licking his lips, but it didn’t help.  Sam wouldn’t notice that, though.  
  
“Dean.  That’s my line.  What’s up with you?”  
  
“Nothing’s up with me,” Dean scoffed, flipping his middle finger up.  His tongue was like sandpaper against the roof of his mouth.  “Get out of my house.”  
  
“No,” Sam said, laughing.  He closed the door behind him and wandered up to the kitchen counter.  “You had your chance.”  
  
Dean moved to get up, but his head pounded, so he settled for glaring from his seat.  “What,” he demanded, beyond annoyed.  
  
Sam was pulling take out boxes from a plastic bag and setting them down.  He didn’t even look up.  “I told you I would just show up if I had to.”  
  
“I didn’t get any message.”  
  
Bitchy sigh.  “And where’s your phone?”  
  
Dean thought for a moment.  “Glove box.”  
  
“Ah-huh.  Come here.  Soup.”  
  
“What is your fucking  _problem_ , Sam?  What are you doing here?”  
  
“Well,” Sam seemed to be enjoying this too much.  “Since you didn’t bother calling in to the shop yesterday?  Charlie was worried about you.  Not to mention Bobby - good luck with that, by the way.”  
  
 _Shit_.  Dean could have sworn it had been a Saturday.  
  
Sam stared him down, all condescending and -  _tall_.  “Which led me to Benny.  He says he hasn’t seen you since yesterday morning.  And considering the way you’ve been acting lately, I think I know what’s up.”  He indicated the takeout container in front of him again.  “ _Soup_.”  
  
“What’s  _up_?  What d’y-” Dean forced himself to stand, wincing with the headache it gave him.  He needed water.  
  
“First, you don’t even bother getting me back for screwing with the Impala?”  Sam was standing in his way, hands on his hips.  
  
Dean just groaned at him, pushing past to get to the sink.  
  
“Then you’re constantly attached to your phone, when I’ve never seen you talk to  _anyone_  on there for more than five minutes.”  
  
Dean was barely even listening.  He splashed his face with water, drinking from his palms - because  _fuck it_.  
  
“And then you go get high and blow off work?”  
  
“Can’t a guy take a sick day without people staging an intervention?”  Dean mumbled, rubbing his face with a dishcloth.  
  
“Dean.  I don’t know what kind of breakup you’re going through, but I’m not going to let you go on a bender over some  _girl_.  This is stupid.”  
  
So that was Sam's great conclusion.  
  
"Oh my God," Dean moaned, " _you're_  stupid."  
  
That wasn't the food's fault, though.  Dean stole away back to the coffee table with the takeout containers.  He had forgotten he eat real food for some time now, probably since leaving Benny's yesterday.  He had finished off a whole pie to himself, but that was it.  The smell of broth was so good it made him feel hollow.  
  
Sam followed, taking the seat opposite him.  He gestured at the shotgun shells spread out on the table in front of them.  “What are you doing?  Loading these by hand?”  
  
Dean felt a little giddy at the question.  “Heh, get this.  _Paintballs_.”  
  
Sam stared at him as if expecting something more.  
  
“They’re going to be sweet,” Dean defended.  
  
“What they’re going to be is a mess in your gun.”  
  
Dean considered this, staring at them.  “The powder,” he realised.  It could break down the paintball before it ever left the barrel.  
  
“Shit.”  
  
Sam gave a weird bark-laugh, as if it was hard for him to get out.  He just watched while Dean started emptying the shells, before he spoke up again.  
  
"Dean, you know I'm always here if you need to talk about things."  
  
Dean glared at him to be quiet, shoving the box of powder aside.  He was just glad he hadn’t added it yet.  He sighed, turned to the soup, and lifted it to drink right out of the takeout container.  
  
Sam was incapable of shutting up; of course he kept talking.  He probably just needed to hear his own voice.  "Just tell me what happened."  
  
 _I had a mind blowing homosexual encounter, Sammy._   The thought made Dean laugh.  
  
"It  _is_  a girl, though?"  
  
"No, you idiot.  Why are you so desperate to talk girls, huh?  Do you have feelings you need to share?"  
  
Sam charged on, not even listening.  "Did she dump you?"  
  
 _For crying out loud_.  "You're a twelve year old girl, Sam."  
  
"What, really?  You dumped  _her_?"  Sam pulled a lucky fucking guess.  "Then why are you acting like a baby?"  
  
Dean turned away so he wouldn't have to see those big dumb puppy eyes, and went back to downing the amazing soup.  Sam carried on his pretend conversation anyway.  
  
"It's commitment issues, isn't it?"  
  
Dean rolled his eyes.  
  
"Hmm.  I'm not too far off.  You're scared of something, alright."  
  
"You're delusional, you know that?"  
  
"Well, then, how does she feel?"  
  
"Seriously stop talking."  
  
His tone became accusing.  "Dean!  Look at me!"  
  
"What?  What the hell is your problem?!"  Unfortunately, Dean had complied, whipping around to glare at his brother.  
  
Sam looked angry with him.  "Tell me you're not both brooding over this because  _you're_  too much of a coward to talk about your stupid feelings."  
  
"There is  _no girl,_  Sam!"  
  
He put his hands up as if in surrender, but Sammy rarely surrendered anything.  "Yeah, and water's not wet and the sky's not blue..."  
  
Dean groaned and went back to what he was doing.  Maybe if he really pretended Sam wasn't there he would eventually just go away.  
  
"You think you're fooling anyone, Dean?  You have that guilty look, I know you've pulled some dick move and -"  
  
 _Blah, blah, blah_.  
  
"- God forbid you put any effort into connecting with people -"  
  
He must have been on his last spurt by now.  Dean glanced over, one eyebrow lifted high to let Sam know he hadn't heard a thing he was saying.  
  
 _Score_.  Sam threw up his hands and stood.  "This is ridiculous.  I just pity anyone who tries to have a relationship with your sorry ass."  
  
"Thanks for stopping by, Sammy, always a pleasure," Dean called out as Sam stormed towards the door.  
  
"You know what, Dean?  You make yourself miserable."  
  
"Got it.  Thanks, bro."  
  
With a last sigh, Sam shut the door behind him.  But in the quiet that followed, Dean didn't feel like he'd won at all.  Sam was right about one thing, Dean was fucked up over what happened.  
  
But where could he go from here?  
  
He was too exhausted to think straight; the lack of sleep was finally catching up to him; it probably already had something to do with his grand idea to load shotgun shells with paintballs.  He was warm and full of soup and all he wanted was sleep.  So he laid back right there on the sofa and let it take him.  
  
His nap was only a few hours, but it felt like pulling himself out of death when he rose again.  He was drenched in sweat, and infinitely grateful that was the only fluid he'd discharged in his sleep.  
  
All he'd dreamed of, vividly and repeatedly, was calling Cas. Until the Novak from that TV show appeared at his door, furious, and Dean jolted awake, mortified, because -  
  
 _Damn, anger looks so hot on him_.  
  
Those weren't Dean's thoughts.  It was the dreams, they made him all disoriented.  There was nothing attractive about the character Cas had named himself for.  Or, objectively speaking, of course, he had to be alright, because he was an actor.  Dean understood that.  But the Novak that he'd seen on screen was nothing like  _this_.  Alive with rage, eyes blazing.  
  
Dean gave himself a shake.  _No_ , he told himself forcefully.  
  
He needed to - well, he needed a shower, first, and probably a cold one, but then - then he needed to call Cas somehow.  Enough was enough.  
  
\- -  
  
"Thank you for calling Revelations, the perfect place to meet guys for steamy hookups and hot chat.  One hundred percent private and confidential."  
  
"Yeah, hi, I'm just, uh."  What  _was_  Dean doing?  This had worked when he was drunk.  
  
He wished he was at least a little drunk now.  "I wanted to book something with, uh, someone specific.  Do I - can you do that?"  
  
"Certainly.  Do you have a name for me, sir?"  
  
"I'm De - or, I mean, Sam.  Winchester."  
  
"For the actor, sir?"  
  
"Oh.  Oh, yeah.  It's, uh," Dean felt his stomach twist.  _Cas_.  "Officer Novak?  I guess?"  
  
"Ah, yes," he replied quickly.  "I can't book for him, but I can put in the request for you.  Do you have a profile with us?"  
  
"Yeah," Dean said, dejected.  He gave Sam's name again, and the operator found him easily.  
  
"Is there anything else I can help you with today, sir?"  
  
"Oh,"  _oh God, no_.  "No, I'm good.  That's, uh, thanks."  
  
"No problem, sir," the operator said, too business-like for Dean to handle just at the moment.  
  
He hung up quickly and just sat there for a bit, letting his heart pound out an erratic rhythm.  It was done with, now.  He'd done his part.  There was no reason to be nervous.  
  
Dean startled when his phone rang suddenly, vibrating against his lap.  
  
 _Unknown number_.  
  
"Shit, shit, shit," Dean whispered, staring with wide eyes as it continued to ring.  He never imagined Cas - shit,  _Novak_  would call back this fast.  
  
Maybe it wasn't even him.  Could be some spam phone call.  Probably not, though.  
  
Dean had to answer.  
  
He lifted his phone with a grimace.  "Yeah," he said.  
  
"Hello, Dean."  
  
 _It's him_.  
  
Yeah, of course it was him.  Dean inhaled slowly, determined not to act half as jittery as he felt - like he'd just bumped into a celebrity or some shit.  
  
"So, I saw Garrison Thirteen."  
  
Cas didn't laugh, but seemed to breathe easier.  "Now you must understand why the name Jimmy feels so strange."  
  
"Did you really use his name?  That's so cheap, man," Dean teased.  He was bewildered at how easily the small talk came to him.  What was he even saying?  
  
"I learned everything about my role from that show," he replied.  But he stumbled.  "Well.  Not - everything."  
  
 _Shit_.  "Hah.  Yeah."  Dean was not laughing.  
  
There was a lull as he reached for what he needed to say.  He took long enough that when he finally found his voice, so had Cas.  
  
"I have to ask about your -"  
  
"Look, man, about the whole -"  
  
And they both stopped.  Apologised at the same time.  It was agonizing.  
  
"You first," Cas insisted.  
  
Dean rubbed his face with his free hand.  "The other day.  What happened..."  
  
If he thought the pause would push Cas to finish this horrible sentence for him, he was wrong.  The other end of the line was dead quiet.  Dean had to say this, out loud.  
  
"That can't happen again, man."  
  
Why was his throat closing on him?  Fuck this.  
  
Cas didn't make it any easier.  He spoke so quietly, so seriously, Dean couldn't even get properly grossed out by his suggestion.  "Are you sure about that, Dean?"  
  
He realised that he wasn't sure.  That it definitely  _could_  happen again, which was precisely why this conversation was so fucking necessary.  
  
Dean steeled himself.  Yeah, he could be sure.  "As there's cold shit in a dead cat," he said.  
  
"...What?"  
  
"I mean, yeah," Dean blurted, embarrassed at his use of one of those stupid sayings he'd picked up from watching old movies.  "Yes.  More than sure.  It's a - a mandate."  
  
He immediately regretted his word choice.  _Man date?  Really, Dean?_  
  
If he noticed the pun, Cas was very forgiving about it.  "I can respect that.  It is entirely up to you."  
  
"Good.  I'm glad."  
  
"But you should know that it will always be an option."  
  
Dean quickly talked over him.  "Nope, I'm - I'm good, thanks!"  
  
Cas was a sly one, though.  He hummed and intoned, " _Yes, you are_  -"  
  
Dean panicked, pulling the phone away and hitting 'end call'.  "Oh god."  
  
He wasn't sure what made him do that.  He tried to calm down, lean back and take a breath - he was  _terrified_ , he realised.  Of what?  Cas hitting on him?  He'd never been scared of gay men before.  But then, they'd seriously crossed a line last time... maybe one that couldn't be uncrossed after all.  
  
That was it, he figured.  He'd made an effort, as Sam said.  But Dean was never really going to get past the gay thing.  
  
How could he?  
  
Then suddenly, his phone showed a new incoming call, from the 'unknown number' that was always Cas.  It started ringing; Dean's stupid heart hammered over it.  
  
"It was a joke," Cas blurted as soon as Dean hit the answer button.  Hadn't he meant to push 'ignore'?  
  
"It was in bad taste; I apologise," Cas was saying.  
  
Dean didn't answer.  He wasn't sure what to say.   ' _Don't call me anymore_ '?  
  
But Cas seemed so sincere, Dean didn't think he could really just end - everything.  Maybe just ' _Don't do that again,_ ' would be enough.  
  
"Dean?"  
  
"Yeah," he breathed.  "No, I'm sorry, man.  I didn't mean to hang up.  It was an accident."  
  
"Oh," Cas said.  He sounded relieved.  "Either way, I promise it won't happen again."  
  
Dean forced a laugh.  "Dude.  I can take a joke."  
  
Yes.  This could still work.


	5. Chapter 5

They started a new TV series right away.  Dean felt silly that this one hadn’t occurred to him until now.  
  
He had never seen the entirety of the original series, anyway.  It was great because it was more than nerdy enough to appease Cas, it was honestly interesting for Dean, who grew up on the films, and best of all: they would  _never_  run out of Star Trek.  Especially not at the rate they were going.  
  
It was the perfect balance between having the distraction they needed and being able to stop any time and just shoot the shit for no reason.  They were back into the usual swing of things, and Dean couldn't be happier.  
  
It only lasted one day.  Dean didn't realise it at the time, but things were already hard on Cas.  
  
"I have to let you know," Cas said suddenly, as if only just remembering, "that I am booked in the evenings this week."  
  
"Oh," Dean said, trying to find a response that wasn't presumptuous.  Yes, they'd kept the same schedule for nearly two weeks straight - but then Dean had gone and blown him off for three days.  Of course Cas wasn't going to wait around.  
  
"You sure are in demand," he chuckled.  
  
Cas sighed.  "It's not that.  It's a regular.  He's been very impatient with scheduling recently.  He would be very difficult to deal with if I suggested another change."  
  
"What?  Boot his ass if he's giving you trouble, man."  
  
"He's been a loyal client for months, Dean.  I'm not booting anything," Cas sounded amused.  
  
Dean scoffed.  "If I was you, no one would be getting brownie points just for stickin' around."  
  
"And how would you award 'brownie points'?"  
  
He smirked.  "You only get special treatment for doing TV marathons with me."  
  
“I don’t think I’ve received quite enough brownies, in that case.”  Cas hummed.  
  
It occurred to Dean that brownies were a metaphor for something he hadn’t intended, and he lost a beat trying to reply.  “Hah,” he forced out.  “I grace you with my company, don’t I?”  
  
“Is that really special treatment?” Cas huffed.  
  
“You kidding me?  I’ve never done the whole talking for hours thing before.”  
  
“I see,” Cas said, and Dean felt his face go hot at how dangerously close to sentimental they’d suddenly gotten.  
  
Thankfully, Cas steered them away from that.  “You say that like it’s a pleasant thing," he chided.  
  
“What is?”  
  
“Talking to you for hours.”  
  
Dean blushed  _harder_  at that.  “Sh-shut up!  I’m a freaking joy to be around.”  
  
“Ah.  My bad.  It must just not translate over the phone,” Cas mused.  
  
“Psh,” Dean glowered.  He was more annoyed with himself than anything else.  Cas was doing a great job of pretending they hadn't  _jerked off together_  - so what the hell was wrong with Dean?  
  
“Anyway,” Cas interjected, clearing his throat, “I will have to go before eight o’clock tonight as well.”  
  
“Jeez.  Same guy?”  
  
“ _Dean_.”  Cas intoned.  “Don’t ask me that.”  
  
“What?!  I’m not asking about  _him_.  I’m asking about  _you_.  Can I do that?”  
  
Cas paused.  “I suppose so,” he said slowly.  
  
“You ‘suppose so’,” Dean mocked, rolling his eyes.  
  
“I’m just not used to discussing my work, Dean.  It’s very new for me.”  
  
“Oh, and here I assumed you were giving all the juicy details every Sunday at family dinners."  
  
"Huh.  Not exactly," Cas replied with a sigh.  "My family thinks I sell ad time for radio."  
  
_Surprise_.  "Does anyone know what you do?"  
  
"Well, Gabe is really nosy so of course he -" Cas cut off so suddenly Dean thought they'd lost the connection.  
  
"Cas?  You still there, buddy?"  
  
"Yes," he said in a small voice.  
  
Dean still hadn't picked up on Cas' distress.  "I couldn't hear you.  Who is Gabe?"  
  
"He's - uh, he's my brother," Cas replied, uncharacteristically shy.  
  
And then Dean clued in.  "Shit, I'm sorry man, I didn't mean to pry."  
  
"It's okay," Cas breathed, "actually you've heard about Gabriel before."  
  
The name was not familiar.  "When?"  
  
"He's the prankster."  
  
"Oh!  Sewer bro?"  
  
"Yes, that's the one," Cas laughed, suddenly more at ease.  
  
"Huh.  So somehow he's the only one you trust enough -"  
  
" _No, no_ ," Cas interrupted.  "Gabe found out on his own - and then he called the hotline and requested me."  
  
Dean swore softly.  
  
"It was an uncomfortable experience," Cas finished.  
  
"I'll bet,” he sniggered.  
  
"In Gabriel's defence, he is the most humane of my older brothers."  
  
"Wow, your other brothers must be complete douche nozzles - hold on, just how many do you have?"  
  
Just like that, they both seemed to have forgotten the unspoken privacy rule.  Cas explained that he came from a family of eight kids - adopted, all of them.  Dean went and broke one of his own rules, in turn, and shared that he and Sam had gone through the foster care system, escaping a totally different life by landing at Ellen's.  She had given them a little sister in Jo.  Cas had one sister, too.  
  
It all came out so easy.  Too easy.  Cas just had a way of getting under his skin, lulling him into this false sense of security.  It was that same quality that made it okay that they had some weird gay experience between them - that made Dean constantly tend towards flirting again, even though Cas was more deadpan than ever now.  It made  _Dean_  feel like the gay one.  
  
Cas was definitely having an effect on him, somehow.  Infectious, like pheromones or something, making Dean act like a smitten schoolboy.  It was beyond embarrassing.  
  
But he was resolutely respecting Dean’s no-gay mandate, and as long as that continued, Dean didn't care about the rest.  
  
It was almost a week later when things started going wrong in a way that Dean hadn’t expected at all.  It seemed innocuous, Cas was running late.  He sent Dean one of those stupid text messages that he couldn’t reply to, explaining as much.  
  
But it had been an hour already and Dean was sitting there twiddling his thumbs.  It was ample time for him to do laundry and scrub down both his kitchen and the bathroom - a very long hour.  Dean was becoming far too aware of every passing minute that his phone didn’t ring.  
  
He wasn’t worried, it was just that Cas had always been very punctual.  Dean was beginning to wonder if he would even call after all.  He checked the time again.  Almost midnight.  His common sense told him their appointment was simply cancelled at this point, that he wasn’t really waiting by now.  
  
A notification sounded on his phone for some spam email, causing Dean to glare at it for bothering him with anything other than Cas.  Okay fine, yes, Dean  _was_ waiting.  Just more support for the infectious gay pheromones theory.  
  
Cas did call, before midnight struck.  
  
“I am surprised,” Dean said when he picked up.  “I didn’t think I’d hear from you tonight.”  
  
Cas’ deep voice came through his phone, even gruffer than usual.  “My apologies, it really shouldn’t have taken me this long.”  
  
“Woah, do you have a cold?”  
  
“No, I’ve just -” Cas cleared his throat.  “I’m fine.”  
  
Dean frowned.  “Can I ask what happened?”  
  
“It’s - work,” Cas said in a clipped tone.  
  
“ _Oh_.”  Dean suddenly remembered Cas’ scheduling problems with weeknights.  Cas must have put his appointments back to back, calling Dean as soon as he finished with his real client - the thought creeped Dean out.  
  
“Um.  Do you still want to keep watching?” Cas suggested.  
  
“Yeah.  Yeah, for sure.  Hold on.”  
  
They went on to watch a few episodes without talking much, and Dean was infinitely grateful for that.  Bless TV for taking the socializing out of their appointments.  He was just full of questions he knew Cas wouldn’t answer.  
  
They finished early.  
  
“Hey, Cas?” Dean said, instead of ‘goodbye’.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
He hesitated.  Cas wouldn’t like it, but he had to say it.  “It was Mr Impatient, wasn’t it?”  
  
Cas didn’t make a sound.  
  
“You don’t have to say anything,” Dean blurted.  “But… you can fire him if he’s causing you trouble, right?”  
  
“This is my job, Dean.  I rely on regulars."  
  
It rubbed Dean the wrong way.  He wasn't normally so overprotective, but he couldn't help the feeling that he had caused this trouble for Cas, by filling up his schedule.  Making this guy realize that he wasn't the only one Cas was regularly sexing up.  
  
Not that he was sexing up anyone here - but his client wouldn't know that now, would he?  
  
“Yeah.  I know.  I just… I don’t like him.”  
  
Cas sighed.  “It’s a lot of money to turn down.”  
  
Dean felt his lip curling in distaste.  “Dude, if you want the hours sign me up for them.”  
  
He heard a soft chuckle.  “Thanks, Dean.  But I’m sure your brother is going ask for his card back any day now.”  
  
“Hah,” Dean huffed darkly, not wanting to think about the prank coming to an end - not like he’d pay for dates with Cas out of his own pocket.  Hell, no.  It all had him beyond irritated now, spiteful, even.  
  
This time it wasn’t an accident when he asked, “Why do you need so much money, Cas?”  
  
"Has anyone ever called you intrusive?" Cas asked, though his voice was gentle.  
  
"Maybe.  Does that mean you won't say?"  
  
A sigh.  "If you must know, I am taking care of family stuff."  
  
"Family stuff," Dean repeated, unconvinced.  
  
"Yes.  I had to borrow some money for my two younger brothers.  They are still in school."  
  
"Ah huh.  And this loan is so bad that a normal nine-to-five job won't cut it?"  
  
"It's a complex issue - my older brothers refused to give them their rightful inheritance when our father passed.  I wanted to spare them the heartache."  
  
"Shit, Cas -!"  
  
He suddenly raised his voice.  "And  _you_  put Sam through school instead of getting your engineering degree."  
  
Dean deflated.  He wasn't even planning on criticising Cas, but he had forgotten just how much he had told this guy about himself.  "Did I really mention engineering?"  
  
"It was implied."  
  
"Huh," Dean chuckled.  "Little brothers, am I right?"  
  
"They are worth it," Cas said, calmer.  
  
Dean could understand that.  There seemed to be no end of surprises, as the more they got to know each other, the more Dean found he could relate to him - to a gay phone sex actor.  It was certainly something he had never expected.  
  
The weekend passed so amicably, allowing them to veg out and go through a good chunk of the series, that Dean started to forget about Cas' trouble client.  Then Monday came, and he happened to check his phone just before lunch.  A message from Cas.  
  
He tried not to be excited at the unscheduled contact, but quickly dropped what he was doing to open it.  
  
_Dean. I apologize for the inconvenience, but I must cancel our appointments until further notice.  I have encountered a security problem with another client which necessitates my relocation.  I will contact you once I have cleared the issue. I really am sorry, Dean._  
  
Dean saw red, imagining that he knew exactly who had caused a 'security problem'.  He threw his socket into the toolbox, way too hard, but not nearly hard enough to satisfy the urge that had overcome him, to fucking break things.  More than ever, Dean was frustrated that he had no independent means of contacting Cas.  
  
"You don't have to apologize, idiot," he said aloud to his phone, rubbing one dirty hand over his face.  
  
This really was Dean's fault, in a way.  Sure, this impatient client guy had finally made it clear that he had some screws loose after all, but Cas had been managing just fine until Dean came along and completely monopolized his time.  And for what?  Some slow burn prank that Sam hadn't even discovered yet.  
  
Seriously, did the kid never check his freaking credit card balance?  Did he not even notice the thing was missing?  Dean couldn't imagine Sam just letting all this go when he found out.  The bill must have been in the thousands by now; and Dean had already received his new rims, over a week ago.  
  
It all felt so pointless, suddenly.  And it was just costing everyone - it was costing  _Cas_ , an innocent bystander in their stupid game.  
  
When he finally left the shop for the day, Dean's temper was through the roof and his first instinct was to drink it away.  He couldn't, though.  He had learned his lesson - twice now - when it came to drinking over Cas.  
  
He didn't want to think about what that meant - that he knew he'd lose his shit if he started drinking.  When he hadn't felt the need to be wary over booze since he was maybe 20.  He went straight home and picked up the case of an old pistol that had belonged to his father, packing it carefully into his trunk.  
  
He might not have shiny new toys like Benny, but his dad's Colt would do well enough to get this bullshit out of his system.  He headed straight for the indoor firing range and went through every magazine he had for the stupid thing, until he'd reached his dad's clip.  He even picked it up, but in the end he would never be able to use it.  
  
So he just packed his shit up and headed home again.  It was dark out by now anyway.  
  
But home was no good; there was whiskey in the cabinet and Dean had forgotten to buy groceries, his phone was still empty of any message from Cas no matter how many times he checked it.  He had to leave again, quickly.  
  
He ended up at the Roadhouse that night.  Stuffing his face with Ellen's burgers and playing pool with some drunk idiots.  
  
It made him some money, even.  
  
He didn't go home until he had to; he was proud that he had turned down every offer Jo gave for free drinks.  But eventually, he did end up at home again.  Sober as shit and wide awake.  Nearing three in the morning.  
  
Headphones and Zeppelin kept him sane.  Because his phone didn't go off for the rest of the night.  
  
\- -  
  
It had been a couple days since Cas' emergency message, and still Dean hadn't heard from him once.  Complete radio silence.  It felt like two  _weeks_.  
  
Fortunately, the shop was incredibly busy this week, so Dean had more than enough to preoccupy himself with.  Normally, putting in this much over time helped to take his mind off things and just focus on work.  But thoughts of Cas haunted him no matter what, and whether it was guilt or selfish impatience, Dean couldn't shake the constant awareness that his phone remained silent.  
  
The first one to break the quiet spell was, of course, not Cas but Sam.  Dean quickly swiped the alert out of the way and went right on back to work.  He wanted his phone to be clear of notifications, so that whenever Cas contacted him, he would know right away.  
  
Sam himself, on the other hand, Dean could not just swipe away.  It was exactly five o'clock when he strolled into the shop, coming right out onto the back pad where Dean was underneath a big old transport truck.  
  
He announced his arrival with a swift stomp to his brother's knee.  
  
Dean cussed loudly, first because Sam nearly shattered his kneecap, and then again because he'd just smashed his forehead on the chassis above him.  Once he could see straight, he pulled himself out from under the vehicle to get a look at his brother.  Sam had the bitchiest grimace plastered over his face.  
  
Dean sat up, defensive and nursing his leg.  "What the fuck was that for?"  
  
"Why don't you tell me," Sam countered, seething.  
  
"Do you ever just listen to yourself to see how stupid you sound?" Dean groaned, exasperated, blinking from the pain.  
  
Sam did not take the bait; instead he cut to the chase: "I had an automatic transaction go through today that cleaned out my checking account.  Because I missed a payment on my amex, which is weird - I don’t even use that card."  
  
_Oh_.  Dean tried to go for a scoff, but he wasn't even finding this funny, like he was supposed to.  Things had all gone so wrong - he was too worked up about Cas being AWOL - it just wasn't fair.  This moment was supposed to be golden.  
  
"You are  _so_  goddamn lucky, that I didn't have the same authorization on my savings account."  
  
"You have automatic authorization set up for your credit card?  Idiot."  
  
"I have never even used it, Dean!  How was I supposed to know - how long were you going to keep up this -  _where is my fucking card, you dick bag?!_ "  
  
Dean sighed, lifting his hips so he could smuggle his wallet out of his back pocket.  "You are the biggest baby."  
  
Sam snatched the card from his hands, livid.  "Do you even know how much you racked up, doing this?"  
  
Dean shrugged, holding a smirk.  
  
"Nearly  _ten grand,_ " Sam shouted, throwing his arms up.  It just made him look like a mad gorilla, from this angle.  
  
The number was a bit of a surprise.  Not that it was unexpected, just that Dean had never actually asked how much Cas was charging per hour.  The math didn't immediately come to Dean, and he thought on it.  _Must be just under a hundred bucks... no wonder Cas takes it all so seriously_.  
  
"Well?  Is that not fucking good enough for you?!"  Sam was still screaming his lungs out.  "You don't have anything to say for yourself?!"  
  
Dean squinted up at him.  _Might as well_.  "Yeah, how'd Jess take it?"  
  
"Jess," Sam repeated slowly, angrily, as he put it all together.  "That's why it was a gay hotline.  To get a reaction from Jess?"  
  
Dean was actually able to laugh at that.  "Yeah, why else?"  
  
Sam hesitated before making a face that just said  _fuck it_ , and spat out, "I just assumed you were having fun.  I always thought you had one foot in the closet."  
  
Dean managed not to sputter - Sam didn't need to know how close to the nail he'd actually hit.  Dean rolled his eyes.  "Oh, fuck off, Sam."  
  
"Me fuck off?  You're telling  _me_  -" Sam took such tremendous effort to cut himself off that he physically had to pull back and close his eyes.  He started doing his yogi deep breathing thing.  
  
It should have been enough to make Dean piss himself with glee.  He just could not get into it, not now.  _Why did Sam have to do this today?_  
  
"You are coughing up the cash for this," Sam said, not nearly as calm as he probably intended.  
  
"Whatever," Dean grumbled, shrugging.  
  
Sam did a double take.  "What - just like that?"  
  
He waved his wrench in annoyance.  "Seriously, what _ever_.  Can I get back to work now?"  
  
Everything about their exchange was causing a bitter taste in Dean's mouth.  Ruined.  It was completely ruined, because stupid Cas and his stupid stalker and his stupid  _gay fuckin pheromones_  - when this should have been Dean's crowning moment.  Ten stinking grand!  Hell if this didn't take the cake for winning prank.  
  
"I'm not leaving until you email me the money that was pulled from my account.  Right now."  
  
Dean sighed.  "How much was it?"  
  
Sam took out a folded sheet of paper from his pocket.  "Here's the full list of charges - they go back just over a month.  Figure it out."  
  
He flicked it at Dean, catching a lucky angle, so it cut through the air and hit Dean square in the chest.  He opened it, more than a little curious.  
  
_One thousand_.  Sammy was a freaking grad student!  How could he possibly be keeping that much just sitting around?  
  
Dean knew it was a prime opportunity to make a sarcastic remark, but nothing came to him.  He obediently pulled out his phone and did the transfer right there.  
  
"You fuckin' happy?" Dean asked when he was finished.  
  
"Not even close," Sam replied, scowling.  "You're a freaking child, Dean."  
  
But he did leave, as he had promised, pretty quickly after that.  And so Dean could finally get back to problems that he had the ability to fix, namely mechanical ones.  As he pulled himself back under the frame of the truck, Dean tried to attribute the sudden emptiness he felt to the chunk of cash he'd just sent his brother's way.  But he really wasn't fooling himself.  
  
Fucking everything was about Cas, these days.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really losing steam for this fic, but encouragement from **hippivickyx** and **reillyblack** kept it going. so thank you both!  
>  part 6 shouldn't take too long now :)


	6. Chapter 6

****Finally, Cas called.  
  
It was the end of the week, and Benny was out on a job and Charlie had some pro-life rally to infiltrate, Sid had dinner with the inlaws, Jo was working all night - Dean hadn't even left work yet and he was agonizing about how he would spend the evening.  Sure, he could go to the range, but at this rate he'd only get an hour before sundown, and besides, he'd still be alone with himself and the  _silence_.  
  
Donny.  Yeah, Donny might be bartending tonight.  He'd cut Dean off if he got out of hand.  
  
Dean pulled off one glove with his teeth, holding it there as he reached for his phone.  His heart leapt into his throat when he saw both a missed call and an sms from the one-way number he'd saved as 'Novak'.  _Cas!_  
  
The glove fell from his mouth, and he quickly dropped the other one as well, opening the message Cas had sent.  
  
_Dean; the new arrangements are complete.  If you are able to return my call this evening, I have given directions to put you through. Please just give your name to the operator. - CC_  
  
Dean stared hard at the initials.  The last time, he had signed JN.  Dean's head spun, telling him all at once that it was a typo, that he had only accidentally hit the C key twice, but also that Cas must have a last name, a real one, that he absent-mindedly signed his initials,  _his real initials_  -  
  
Yeah, right.  Not when he was recovering from a stalker incident.  Cas was increasing the security of his work, not sending out his name, birthdate and social security number to anybody on his client list.  Not even to Dean.  
  
Dean made himself put it away.  He couldn't talk properly until he got home, anyway.  He was just glad that the wait was over.  
  
It had him in such a good mood that he worked diligently until nearly seven thirty, until Bobby stuck his head into the shop and asked what the hell he was still doing there.  Sheepishly, he cleared the shop so Bobby could close up.  
  
The drive home was too long.  
  
As soon as he has the Impala safely parked in his underground stall, Dean pulled out his phone.  He quickly scrolled through his log to find that toll free hotline number, and hit dial before he'd even gotten out of the car.  
  
It was a female operator again; Dean vaguely wondered why they used girls on a gay chatline - "Thanks for calling Rev-"  
  
"Yeah, hi,"Dean interrupted her loudly.  "I'm actually looking for an Officer Novak.  You have one of those?"  
  
She didn't answer for a moment.  When she did, a lot of the friendliness had gone from her tone.  "No sir; are you looking for something in the military category?"  
  
"Oh, I’m supposed to tell you my name.  It’s Dean Winchester."  
  
_Lookit you go_ , Dean mused at himself.  He was so relieved to have heard from Cas that he didn't even feel embarrassed giving his name.  
  
"Ah, I see.  There is a note for you.  I'll put you through now, sir."  
  
"Thanks," he said, though she had already traded in with a dial tone.  
  
Dean was still sitting in his car, just listening to it ring.  He was accidentally holding a breath, so he made himself blow it out.  
  
Finally, Cas answered.  All he said was, "Dean."  
  
"Cas, buddy, how the hell are you doing?"  Okay, he sounded way too excited; it made his cheeks warm.  _Tone it down, man_.  
  
"I am doing just fine - I hope my message didn't cause you concern for me."  
  
"Dude, are you kidding?  Of course I was concerned."  Dean faltered as another car pulled into the parking garage.  He quickly stepped out of his car, missing Cas' reply as he shut the door.  
  
Dean wasn't worried about that; he needed to know.  "It was him, wasn't it?"  
  
"Yes, it was," Cas replied, sounding frustrated.  "I knew you would ask."  
  
"Well - am I allowed to hear about it?  What did he do?"  He had crossed the garage, and was waiting at the elevators.  
  
Cas sighed in concession.  "I will tell you if you promise not to ask for details; I don't want to get into it too much."  
  
"Yeah okay, no prying.  Deal."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
The elevator arrived with a  _ding_.  Cas wasn't saying anything.  The hesitation made Dean think he maybe should have been more worried the past few days.  
  
He stepped in, urging Cas for more.  "So, what happened?"  
  
"Well - technically, there were two offences."  
  
" _What?_ " Dean fumed.  
  
Then the elevator doors closed, and the call dropped.  Dean swore all the way up to his floor, then jumped out and tried to call back.  Thankfully, he was spared going through the operator again, because Cas called him first.  
  
“Sorry - elevator - what do you mean, two offences?”  
  
Cas cleared his throat.  “It started last week.  He was very upset because I refused to cancel my weekend appointments to make time for him, so he made threats.  I informed him that was the end of our engagements.”  
  
Dean felt nauseous, thinking that it was  _his_ fault Cas was booked all weekend, which set this psycho off on him.  He couldn’t pretend that he was anything other than pleased with the news that Cas had called it quits with the loser, though.  
  
“About time,” he grumbled.  “And then?”  
  
“This client is a very affluent person; I believe he hired someone to acquire my personal information, and during the weekend he contacted me on my mobile phone.”  
  
“You never said anything,” Dean gasped.  He hadn’t given any clue whatsoever that this was weighing on him - or was Dean just too self-absorbed to notice?  
  
“You were already sensitive to my troubles with this client.  I didn’t feel the need to bother you with it.”  
  
“Shit, Cas.  Weren’t you scared?”  
  
He huffed, amused.  “No, Dean.  I contacted my phone company and blocked his number.  Then I filed a report with my own company to investigate the security of my private information.  It was all very straightforward.”  
  
“Then what happened on Monday?”  
  
Cas sighed.  “On Monday, things escalated.  He came to my apartment building.”  
  
“ _Son of a bitch!_ ”  Dean stopped at his door, momentarily forgetting how to fit his key in the lock.  
  
“I have dealt with everything now; I obtained a restraining order, I moved to a new apartment.  I have made changes in my work contract.”  
  
“But did he -”  
  
“Please, Dean.  I am quite safe, I assure you.”  
  
_Right.  No prying_.  Dean took a deep breath, got himself out of the hallway and into his apartment.  “Well - thank you for telling me about it.  It must have been a stressful week for you.”  
  
“It was really not a cause for concern.”  
  
Dean rubbed the bridge of his nose.  What would constitute a real cause for concern?  _Why is he making this sound so damn civil?_  
  
“Are you - you’re really going to keep doing this kind of work?  With nutjobs like this out there?”  He dropped himself onto his bed, kicking his boots to the floor.  
  
“To be honest, I am not certain at this point.  It was definitely an inconvenience to have to relocate so suddenly - but Dean, if it is alright with you, I would rather not discuss it.  We could watch more Star Trek?”  
  
Suddenly, Dean realised that this whole conversation was now on his own dime.  He sat up.  “Oh, shit, Cas - I forgot to tell you - Sammy finally clued in.”  
  
“Your brother?” Cas asked slowly.  “Oh.  _Your brother_.”  
  
“Yeah.  I, uh, I have to...  pay him back.  It looks like you make quite a bit of money, Mr. Novak.”  He tried to make light of the announcement, laughing his own attempt of a joke; but it was with a heavy air.  
  
“I see,’ Cas hummed thoughtfully.  “I imagined this moment would come - I have thought about it and decided it is only fair that I pay the bill.”  
  
“What?  No, Cas, this was all my doing, I should have known it would come down to this -”  
  
“ _Dean_.  If I did not enjoy your company, I would not have agreed to a second appointment.  I would hardly consider our time together as  _work_.  And I feel terrible accepting payment for it.”  
  
“Cas -”  
  
Cas ploughed right over him.  “But I must concede that it would be irresponsible for us to continue in this manner.  I suppose this is the end of the line, for us.”  
  
“It doesn’t have to be,” Dean breathed.  He didn’t know what he was saying; Cas’ price was way too expensive.  The company he worked for was taking a cut of his fee, too.  It just wasn’t feasible for them to continue.  
  
“What are you suggesting,” Cas demanded, his tone clipped.  
  
_Shit_ , Dean thought,  _he probably thinks I’m coming on to him._   And after everything Cas had just gone through - damn, Dean was an insensitive ass!  
  
“No, I don’t know, I just - what if we - we just lowered your rate for like a non-sexy discount.  Or - or - I don’t know.”  
  
“It’s a set rate.  I don’t have control over it.  As long as it’s through the company.”  Cas spoke slowly, obviously suspicious of Dean’s intentions.  
  
Dean wanted to shove a fist in his mouth to keep himself from talking - he was just going to trigger Cas into getting a restraining order on him, too - but he couldn’t - he couldn’t just say  _nothing_.  
  
“I’m sorry Cas, I’m not - it’s not like I can’t say goodbye if that’s what it comes down to - I just - I wish I didn’t have to.  If there was a way we could stay - we could stay friends.”  
  
There was the jarring sound of air blowing against the phone as Cas made a frustrated noise.  "Dean, don't say things like that."  
  
The pit in his stomach ached even worse.  "I'm not like  _him_ ," Dean breathed, scared of upsetting Cas.  The last thing the guy needed was another stalker on his hands.  "I would never do anything you didn't want me to do."  
  
"Yeah, or anything I  _do_  want you to do," Cas groaned.  
  
Dean didn't trust himself to reply.  Cas already had too much on his plate - and now Dean was just dumping his feelings into the mix.  
  
But he couldn't help it.  If Cas just disappeared on him, like  _right now_  - if Dean never heard from him again - the thought was agonizing.  He couldn't risk it all just ending without telling Cas that he - he would  _miss_  him.  
  
Cas broke the silence for him, his voice steely.  "Look, Dean.  I chose this job because I like it.  I like talking dirty with men, and I enjoy getting my clients off.  Can you understand that?"  
  
It was all Dean could do to hold on to the phone.  They definitely weren’t talking about payment arrangements anymore.  Every instinct in him said to run, as far as he could, that Cas' gay pheromones were at work here and if he wanted to have any chance of saving himself,  _he would run_  -  
  
"Yeah," he said, shaky.  "Cas, man, I don't care what you do."  
  
Cas went on, growling, "You don't care that I  _like_  dominating my clients verbally?  That I get hard listening to their fantasies and playing them out?  That I like making them  _come_ , and I - I usually do, too."  
  
Dean's stupid dick was swelling at the timbre of Cas' voice, and he felt light-headed.  But he'd known all that; he'd obviously known what Cas' work entailed, and he knew Cas was gay himself.  The idea of him jerking off while growling at clients, the way he had with Dean...  
  
"Dude, it's fine.  That stuff.. it doesn't matter to me."  
  
"It matters to me, Dean," Cas said unevenly, "because I want to do it with you."  
  
Dean couldn't help remembering something Cas had said to him before, his voice raked with lust:  _Everyone wants to fuck a straight guy.  It's a challenge_.  
  
"Cas - I'm not some challenge," he croaked.  
  
He scoffed.  "Oh, yes you are.  It doesn't help that I got a taste of you already, Dean.  Every time I hear your voice, all I want to do is bring more of those sweet noises out of you, see what you sound like when you're not holding back anymore -"  
  
" _Cas._ "  
  
This was dangerous; Dean needed to get off the phone.  _Now_.  
  
"Yes, Dean?" he asked, breaths coming roughly.  
  
Was it an act?  _He is an actor_ , Dean reminded himself.  "I'm not a client, I'm not paying you for phone sex -"  
  
"What if I was off the clock?  Would you do it if it was free?"  
  
"What -" Dean was too worked up right now to think straight.  To say ' _of course not_ ', like he was supposed to.  If Cas was testing him, he was failing miserably.  
  
"If it was just me and you," Cas intoned meaningfully.  
  
"What are you saying, Cas?" Dean's hands were fists now, his knuckles white.  If Cas kept talking to him this way, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from -  
  
"I'm  _saying_  -" there was a shuffling noise.  "Hold on."  
  
Cas didn't say anything more for a moment, and in that time a second call came in on Dean's phone, ringing too loud and too real in his ears.  
  
It made his heart pound like crazy.  He glanced at the screen: a number he'd never seen.  Area code 815, he registered numbly.  
  
"Answer it," Cas growled, impatient.  
  
Dean did.  
  
"H-hello?" he asked into the new call, pissed that he was stuttering.  
  
"Hello, Dean."  
  
_Cas_.  
  
"Just you and me now.  I would like you to save this number.  It is my personal mobile number."  
  
"Woah - Cas -"  _Cas_ , Dean reeled.  "Aren't you supposed to be increasing security, man, you can't - you can't give your number to clients -"  
  
"You have never been my client, Dean.  As my friend, I think it's well past time that you have it."  
  
He noticed that the first call, on Cas' work line, dropped then.  He had disconnected as Novak.  Now they were just Dean and Cas, like he'd said.  
  
"It's a new number," he went on, oblivious to Dean's shock.  "I just had to change it because of Bartholomew."  
  
"Bartholomew," he repeated.  "Mr. Impatient?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"What about the whole - client confidentiality?" How was Dean talking about this stuff - trivial stuff - when -  _it can't be his real number_.  
  
"He forfeited that right when he broke the law to find me."  
  
"Shit, Cas -"  
  
"He is the furthest thing from my mind right now, Dean.  I am hard as a rock and all I can think of is how hot your voice is when you're horny like this - you're driving me up the wall."  
  
_How does he know - ?_  
  
Dean's cock twitched, straining in his pants.  It was as if Cas had control of his body.  With just his voice.  Dean realized he hadn't said anything, just sat there, breathing heavy, blood rushing in his ears.  He wanted it, so bad.  
  
"Tell me, Dean.  Will you let me hear you moan?"  
  
"Hah," he heard himself huff.  "You think you can buy me with a phone number?"  
  
"What - I'm not trying to -"  
  
"I want your whole name," Dean tried to keep his voice in line.  It was hard, as he was taking out his dick at the same time.  "I need to save your number, don't I?"  
  
Cas made a noise between a laugh and a grunt.  "Of course," he breathed, hissing between his teeth as he shifted one way or the other.  
  
He was probably reaching for his own cock, Dean thought with a thrill.  "So, what is Cas short for?"  
  
" _Castiel_ ," he whispered. It sounded like he was trying to hold his breath.  
  
Dean scoffed.  "You're not pulling my leg are you?"  He was pulling on his own dick, lazy and slow.  
  
“Why would I at this point?”  He was still talking quietly, breaths hissing softly over the phone. “Castiel - Castiel Celestine. How do I know Dean is your real name?”  
  
"You already know everything, don't you?  In your little client profile.  Dean Winchester, born and raised in Lawrence, Kansas.  Your turn."  
  
“Your  _profile_  says Sam -”  
  
"Ugh,  _whatever_ ," Dean interjected.  "Tell me, what's that 815 area code?"  
  
”I’m in Illinois. Stop with the twenty questions, I know you’re touching yourself,” he said, his voice so gruff it made Dean shut his eyes tight.  
  
Despite himself, Dean just chuckled.  "Ah, I might be.  How old are you,  _Castiel_?"  
  
“Twenty-nine; if I have to answer questions, you have to give me something.”  
  
“Ask away," Dean replied, trying to keep from giving himself up as he jacked shamelessly to the sound of Cas' short breaths.  
  
“I don’t have any questions. I want to hear your pretty noises.”  
  
"Oh  _god_  - okay, you're right.  I got my dick out, you happy?"  It didn't even feel that bad, now that he'd said it.  He breathed easier.  "Tell me, do you look anything like the TV Novak?  Or did you pick him just because he's gay?"  
  
“I have been told that I resemble him, yes.”  
  
"So - it's okay if I picture him while I jack off, then?" Dean moaned as he spoke.  
  
“No,” Cas grumbled, curt. “He is not me."  
  
"Give me something to visualize, dude."  
  
"I’ve- I have been told I have bluer eyes.”  
  
"Shit -"  _was that possible?_  
  
“Wha-what about you?  Green eyes, right?” Cas asked impatiently.  
  
"You remembered."  
  
"What else?" Cas pushed.  
  
"I dunno - I - it's summer, so I get covered in freckles, and - my hair is lighter than usual.  Like a dirty blond."  
  
“ _Stop talking._ ” Cas suddenly snapped. “Just - god.” He gave out a deep groan.  The noise went straight to Dean's cock, made him grip even harder.  
  
Something occurred to him, and he brought one hand up to lick it, taking care to be noisy about it. He leaned back and slowly played with his head, the way Cas taught him to.  Combined with the sound of Cas' ragged breathing, it pulled a low moan from him.  
  
"You know exactly what you do to me, don't you," Cas growled.  
  
"Ah - maybe," Dean winced, refraining from taking a proper grip on his cock.  He just kept sliding his palm in gentle circles that made him struggle to keep his hips from jerking up.  
  
"You will regret taunting me, Dean," Cas threatened.  
  
"Huh - what are you gunna do about it?" Dean mumbled, sliding his fingers into a loose ring that he could fuck just a little bit before going back to the agonizingly light touch that made his eyes roll back.  
  
Cas groaned in his ear, sounded amused even.  "Hands off," he commanded.  
  
"What -? As  _if_." Dean just snickered at the ridiculous demand.  His dick felt way too good to stop now.  
  
"I'm serious, Dean.  Stop acting like a slut and put both hands on your knees."  
  
"I'm - I'm holding the phone -"  
  
"Don't play dumb," Cas growled, suddenly callous.  
  
Dean swallowed hard.  He didn't know why, but he did it.  He put Cas on speaker, and dropped his hands as he was told.  The air was cold against his wet cockhead.  "What the hell, Cas -"  
  
Cas cut him off, his commanding timbre more obscene now that he was on speaker.  He sounded different now, and Dean realised he was on speaker as well.  "I'm going to tell you something, and you're going to listen - and under no circumstances are you allowed to touch yourself.  Understood?"  
  
"What - that's no fair -"  
  
"Shut up.  I didn't say it would be.  Now listen."  
  
Dean swallowed, kept his hands in place.  He blinked down at his red, swollen dick and had to look away again.  Casting his eyes to the ceiling, he sighed, "Yeah, I'm listening."  
  
"You're all I can think about when I jerk off," Cas started, the slightest hitch in his tone indicated that was exactly what he was doing right now.  "Even when I'm on with clients."  
  
Dean's dick throbbed with want, but he held tight.  He had definitely been asking the wrong questions, he realized.  Cas obviously had much better answers in store for him.  
  
"You made me come early more than once," Cas continued.  Dean could hear him shift, and grunt, and then his light shuffling turned into a quick and steady rhythm.  
  
Shit, Dean could hear him  _jacking off_.  The thought had him reaching for his own weeping dick - but Cas fucking  _knew_.  
  
"Do you want to hear the rest or not?" he snapped, the sound of his beating ceased.  
  
Even if he didn't care about the dirty talk, Dean wanted more than anything for Cas to go back to jerking it for him.  "Sorry, keep going," he managed, putting his hand firmly back in place.  He gripped his knee tightly in frustration.  His dick actually twitched from the neglect.  
  
And Cas started again, and it was so hot Dean didn't care about his own needs any more.  
  
"It was more than an inconvenience - I've never had anything affect me at work like this."  He sighed, content, over the sound of fapping.  "I tried everything, I would jerk off before a session, picturing you on your knees for me, obedient, with these great cocksucking lips wrapped around me - ah, I bet you are so beautiful, baby."  
  
Dean just shut his eyes again, certain that Cas didn't mean for him to interrupt.  He tried to picture it, Cas as some Novak look-alike, angrier, rougher around the edges, his expression almost a snarl as he described Dean's effect on him.  He pictured Cas moving one hand, swift and tight over his cock as he spoke.  
  
"But it wouldn't help - by the time I was in the thick of it with a client, and he'd be telling me to fuck his ass, to breed him like a bitch, all I could think was that I'd wasted time jerking it to your face when I could have been dreaming about  _fucking you_."  
  
_Woah_.  Jacking off on the phone was one thing.  But taking it up the ass?  Dean certainly wasn't that far gone.  Cas was pushing it - oddly enough, Dean didn't really mind.  It was just talk, he knew, just words - words that were making Cas lose his shit on the other end of the line.  
  
It took everything Dean had not to reach for his dick now.  Precome dripped from his slit, sliding cold down his dick, and it was agony but it was delicious.  The longer he kept off himself, the longer Cas would perform for him.  
  
His hips lifted from the couch just slightly, but he managed to hold off and so Cas kept going.  
  
"Ah, such a good boy, Dean.  Tell me how bad it is," Cas murmured.  
  
"Ugh, it fucking hurts," Dean blurted.  "It's wet and cold and I just wanna get off already, but  _damn this is so hot -"_  
  
Cas chuckled.  "You do like it, then?" The next couple beats were accompanied with the sound of skin smacking skin.  
  
_Shit, he's just going to town_ , Dean thought with a groan.  "Fuck, yeah," he said, and it sounded awful and desperate and he didn't care.  
  
"Good, that's good," Cas said again, his tone a wreck.  "Tell me, Dean - when you do it, have you been touching yourself the way I told you to?"  
  
Dean's head spun, and he heard himself say yes.  It made Cas groan, and it spurred him to keep going, his hands like vices over his knees.  "I even use my own spit like you made me do," he rasped, as more precome leaked from him.  "I circle the head of my dick over and over until I can't take it anymore and then I basically nut as soon as I grab it -  _ahh -_ "  
  
Cas had started swearing again, which only made Dean lose the ability to speak entirely.  
  
"And did you think of me, baby?  Did you imagine me watching you, to make sure you did it right?"  
  
"Shit, Cas - I will now," he grunted.  " _Please - Cas_  -"  
  
"Ah, go ahead, slut.  I know you can't take anymore.  Jerk it for me."  
  
In a flash, Dean had his dick in hand, and he was so far gone he didn't know what Cas was saying, only that he was talking, that he was here with Dean, that he wasn't going anywhere now - now Dean had him for sure.  
  
He mumbled Cas' name, enjoying the way it made him pant, so he said it again.  "Cas,  _my Cas_."  
  
"Ah - Dean -  _fuuuck!_ "  
  
It was enough to push Dean over the edge, too, though he tried to stop.  He didn't want it to end - he'd barely even started.  He whined, rough and needy, " _No -_!"  
  
But he came anyway, pulsing again and again, untouched, his whole body convulsing with it, and he couldn't do anything to stop it.  He could only wait for it to end, gasping for breath like a fish out of water.  
  
"That's what you get," Cas heaved, while Dean slowly came down from his climax, as if learning to breath all over again, "for teasing me.  Dean Winchester."  
  
"Uh," Dean grunted, testing his vocals like he was scared they wouldn't work.  He licked his lips, collecting himself.  "Won't happen again, Castiel."  
  
"I'm glad - the lesson - is learned."  
  
"Hah," Dean huffed.  He shifted so he could tuck his softening dick away.  There was jizz streaks on his shirt; he couldn’t look at them, and he didn’t have the energy to change either.  He just leaned over and fell onto his side, winded.  
  
_Definitely worth putting the gay label somewhere on this mess_ , he thought to himself. _Especially if it's just in fine print._  
  
Cas piped up first, asking, “Are you alright?”  
  
Dean hesitated.  “Yeah, I’m - I’m actually great.”  
  
It was weird.  He had spent all this time trying to convince himself that his attraction to Cas wasn’t sexual at all, but now… damn, how could it be anything else after this?  
  
His phone sat on the bed beside him, Cas on speaker made it feel like he was in the room with Dean.  “I never intended to push you, Dean,” he said solemnly.  
  
“No - dude, it was not your fault,” Dean sighed.  “It was your gay pheromones.”  
  
“My what?”  
  
“You have like this - gay area of effect.  Sucked me in.”  
  
“Dean, even - even if that was a real thing, and I promise you it isn’t - how could that work through the phone?”  
  
“No, I know, I just - it’s so weird, I don’t -” Dean’s face was hot and he didn’t know why he’d said any of it.  
  
Cas’ sudden laugh eased the moment.  “It’s okay.  I get it.”  
  
_Then can you explain it to me, cause I sure as hell don’t_.  Dean dragged his hands down his face, reached for the phone and pulled it closer.  He was so sleepy now, he just wanted to drift off instead of lay there talking about his new sexuality status.  
  
“We don’t have to talk about it,” Cas murmured, keeping up the illusion that he knew exactly what Dean needed.  “I just hope you know that I was serious about everything.  I want you to keep my number.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah of course I will.”  Dean felt himself smiling.  “I’m not going anywhere just yet.”  
 


	7. Chapter 7

Things got weird quickly.  
  
When Dean woke up Saturday morning, it was with the notion that it had all just been a dream.  The first thing he did was reach for his phone, to check that the contact he’d made was still there.  It was.  
  
‘ _Castiel Celestine_ ’, with that Illinois area code.  Dean had checked it, even - not that he didn’t believe Cas.  Just that he didn’t believe  _any_  of it.  
  
But it was true.  He’d stared at the list of Northern Illinois towns that came up, wondering which one Cas could be in.  Not that Dean was going to hunt him down or anything.  It was just curiosity, that was all.  
  
He checked his call history next: again, Cas’ name appeared there.  They had logged nearly 2 hours last night.  Dean got a rush just looking at it.  
  
It pushed him to hover over the option to message him, but he deliberated on what he could even say.  
  
 _Last night was amazing_?  Yeah, right.  Shit, Dean was turning into a girl.  
  
He put the thing down and got out of bed, heading straight to the bathroom to wash his childish excitement away.  So what if he had Cas’ real number?  He was still basically a world away.  _Two states away_ , a voice in his head reminded him.  
  
Cas was a real person now, probably a six hour drive from him.  It was mind boggling.  
  
The shower didn’t work.  As soon as Dean got out, he went straight back to his phone and sent him a text.  
  
‘ _Good morning, Cas_.’  
  
He sent it before his nerves could get to him again.  A reply came in instantly, nearly making him drop the phone in surprise.  
  
‘ _Good morning, Dean_.’  
  
 _Wow.  Wow._   Dean had a hard time computing that simple message.  _Good morning - what does that mean_?  
  
Dean decided he needed caffeine.  He walked away from his phone, heart hammering, as he went about fixing himself a cup of coffee.  When he came back to it, there was a new message.  
  
‘ _Do you have plans today?_ ’  
  
‘ _no, nothing_ ’, he quickly typed back.  
  
Cas’ reply popped up right away.  ‘ _Star Trek?  After 2:00?_ ’  
  
‘ _sounds good_ ’.  
  
‘ _Call me whenever you are ready_.’  
  
Dean swayed on the spot.  _Call me_.  It was overwhelming, but at the same time he thought he would never get enough of it.  Of  _Cas_.  He was fucked.  
  
When the time came, he waited five minutes before actually calling.  He’d never done that shit before, and it was embarrassing when Cas picked up and sounded surprised.  
  
“Dean.  I was starting to think you wouldn’t call.”  
  
“I’m not that late, am I?” he asked weakly.  He couldn’t bring himself to say, ‘It was only five minutes.  I was counting.’  
  
“No, not at all.  I mean I didn’t get a text from you after this morning.”  
  
“Oh - sorry,” Dean faltered.  Shit, he hadn’t confirmed their appointment.  “I’m sorry, if you’re busy now it’s okay -”  
  
“ _Dean_.”  Cas talked over Dean, stopping his stuttering.  “I told you I was free - I’m all yours.’  
  
 _Wow, say what you really mean, Cas_.  Dean couldn’t summon an actual response to that.  
  
“Do you have it open?”  
  
 _Oh, the show_.  Dean looked up at the TV screen in front of him, which was ready to go.  He nodded, his face warm.  
  
“Dean?”  
  
“Yup!  Yup, I’m ready.  You?”  
  
“Yeah, me, too,” Cas replied, voice low.  
  
It made Dean smile.  For someone who wasn’t expecting his call, that was quick.  Maybe Dean wasn’t the only nervous one after all - it made sense.  Cas might be the more experienced one with the phone sex stuff, but he had really gone out on a limb giving Dean his information.  
  
Dean couldn’t fuck this up.  But  _God_ , did he want more.  
  
He did his best to keep to reined it in, to keep to himself, waiting for any signal from Cas that they could pick up where they left off.  But it didn't come.  They powered through episode after episode, barely even speaking, before Cas actually called it an early night at seven o'clock.  Said he had work.  
  
It left Dean more than frustrated, and he ended up watching porn that night and trying really hard not to think about Cas working his magic on some nameless caller.    He didn't do very well.  
  
Dean wasn't able to finish himself off until he closed his eyes and recalled something Cas had said the night before: _I like talking dirty with men_.  Cas had said that it made him come.  Dean imagined Cas beating off at just this moment, while growling at his client like he had with Dean last night, telling them to come.  It kicked everything up a notch, and Dean was coming in no time.  
  
When he was done, he realized that the video he'd had open ended some time ago without him even noticing.  
  
 _Yup.  I’m totally fucked._  
  
Sunday started the same way.  The whole 'good morning' message exchange was sickeningly sweet and this time Dean tried to take the lead.  
  
' _I am free all day_ ', he sent.  
  
' _As am I_.'  
  
' _Star Trek?_ '  
  
Cas didn't text back; he just called.  
  
 _Shit_.  Dean hadn't even brushed his teeth yet.  "Hey," he said, cursing his morning voice.  
  
"You are sleepy," Cas said in reply.  He sounded almost amazed.  
  
Dean cleared his throat.  "No, I just, uh -"  
  
"Did you just wake up?"  
  
"Yeah," he breathed, giving up on faking it.  
  
"I apologize.  I didn't realize."  
  
"It's okay, man - what about you?  How long have you been up?"  
  
Cas made a frustrated noise.  "My little brother woke me up this morning with the laundry machine."  
  
Dean paused, considering the little brother detail.  Was this the brother Cas had sent to school?  
  
"Alfie," Cas said quickly.  "His name is Alfie.  I am staying with him for a short while."  
  
Dean had a lot of questions.  And not just about Alfie.  Every thought that crossed Dean's mind last night came bubbling up to the surface, and he swallowed them down, doing his best to focus.  "Hey Cas, I just have to wash my face and stuff - can I call you right back?"  
  
"Of course - please, take your time."  
  
"Ten minutes is all I need."  
  
"I will be here," Cas said sincerely.  
  
When Dean hung up, he stared at the phone stupidly for a minute.  He had to give himself a shake.  He’d always kept Cas on mute if he had something to take care of during one of their appointments - he didn't think he could get used to the ability just call Cas whenever he felt like it.  
  
They watched through most of the day again.  The approach of seven o’clock had Dean on the edge of his seat.  Cas hadn’t said anything, but Dean assumed he’d have to leave for work again and they would have to call it quits for the night.  Leaving him to - what, twiddle his thumbs all night?  If last night was any indication, Dean wasn’t going to be able to just put down the phone and put Cas out of his mind.  
  
 _Another weekend gone_ , taunted an awful voice in his head.  As if Dean’s life wasn’t already a series of wasted weekends.  
  
“Hey, Cas?”  Dean needed reprieve from his shitty thoughts.  He would ask.  
  
“Yes,” Cas responded absently.  
  
“You gotta work tonight?”  
  
He waited half a beat, then, “Yes.”  
  
“How late?”  
  
“You have work in the morning, Dean.”  
  
“How late?” Dean repeated, shrugging.  
  
He sighed.  “Three.”  
  
Dean sputtered.  “Wha - how many guys have you booked up -?”  
  
“It’s a shift,” Cas clarified.  “I am taking cold calls instead of character requests.”  
  
“Oh, that… that makes sense,” Dean said slowly.  Cas had mentioned security changes; this must be part of it.  
  
“It’s nowhere near as much money,” Cas went on, clearly annoyed with the new arrangement.  “I spend most of my time just waiting, and one-time callers, they only ever want something quick.”  
  
“What a bummer.”  It was a testament to how worked up Dean was that the unrequested information was some weird kind of thrill for him.  
  
His thoughts were going a mile a minute, so it was hard to keep up when he heard himself ask, “Well, you should stay on with me while you wait.  We can pause it when you get a caller, right?”  
  
“Dean-” Cas said, strained, but didn’t finish the thought.  
  
Dean was nearly holding his mouth shut, surprised that he had even suggested it.  He didn’t want to say anything else, anything more incriminating.  The fact was, Dean’s interest in Cas’ work had crossed into straight up creepy territory.  
  
Cas surprised him.  “Actually, if we were just texting, I would like that.”  
  
“Really?  I mean - yeah, cool!”  Dean couldn’t believe his luck.  
  
Seven o’clock arrived, and they hung up.  It wasn’t hard, coordinating the next episode by texting, and it was a while before Cas had to take a call anyway.  Dean thought he was ready for that until it actually happened.  He had told himself he would get up and do something productive, maybe put a load of laundry in.  Hustle up some grub.  But all he could do was stare at the message from Cas.  
  
‘ _Pause_ ,’ was all it said.  Dean knew what it meant, though.  Cas was on with another guy right now.  Doing God knows what.  
  
 _Food, food is good_ , Dean told himself forcefully.  He got up quickly and went around to the fridge.  He could put some burgers together, it seemed.  He couldn’t bring himself to do it, though, and instead reached for a beer.  
  
He checked his phone again; five minutes in.  How far could Cas be with his client by then?  
  
 _All they ever want is something quick_ , Cas’ words replayed in his head.  
  
Shit, when Dean wanted to rub one out quick, five minutes was more than enough.  Maybe Cas was trying to drag it out, though.  Maybe -  
  
“For fuck’s sake -” Dean swore out loud when he realized this agonizing was giving him a boner.  
  
 _Mind out of the gutter, Winchester, mind out of the gutter_ , he told himself silently, trying to think of anything other than Cas on the phone right now with his dick in hand.  _Goddamnit_.  
  
It was barely fifteen minutes in total by the time Cas sent him another message.  ‘ _Ok, go_ ’, it read.  Dean was hard as could be, utterly failing at his attempt not to fixate on whatever it was Cas was or wasn’t doing.  He shut his eyes and banged his head back out of frustration.  
  
 _We’re just going to watch some nerdy TV and forget about this_.  Yes, Dean could do that.  He turned the show back on and forced himself to stare at it.  He felt self-conscious, despite being completely alone in his apartment, and pulled a cushion onto his lap anyway.  
  
His phone started ringing a moment later.  
  
 _Cas!_  
  
“Hey - I thought you said texting only?” Dean asked quickly, trying not to sound excited.  
  
“You didn’t reply,” Cas said.  Dean wasn’t listening for any suspicious vocal cues, not at all.  “Did you hit play?”  
  
“Oh, yeah.  I did.  Sorry.”  
  
“Where are you at?”  
  
Dean gave him the time.  
  
“Ah.  That’s perfect.  Alright, I’ll hang up now.”  But Cas didn’t hang up right away.  He paused, and Dean nearly held his breath with the effort of not giving himself away.  He was so worked up, he wouldn’t be surprised if he was leaking a wet spot into his boxers.  
  
“Dean.  Whatever it is, say it.” Cas said, too seriously.  
  
“No, it’s nothing,” Dean’s throat was tight as he replied. ““It’s just, that was fast, that’s all.”  
  
“I was only -” Cas broke off.  He restarted, “Dean, I went to help Alfie with his printer.”  
  
“Huh.  Yeah, that - that makes sense.”  Dean pressed his palm over his face.  
  
Instead of calling him out for his dirty mind like Dean expected, Cas sighed with - disappointment?  “Is this going to be a problem for you?” he asked tiredly.  
  
“What?  No, man, I’m good.”  
  
“You know this is just work for me,” Cas went on, as if trying to convince Dean of something.  
  
“Yeah, man, that’s fine.  I’m fine.”  
  
A pause.  “Yeah, obviously.”  It was dripping with sarcasm.  
  
 _What the hell_?  “Dude - you know I’m as sex positive as it gets?  I mean, short of joining a red umbrella march… yeah, it’s all cool with me.  Really.”  
  
Cas breathed.  “Forgive me if I’m detecting a note of discomfort here, then.”  
  
“I’m not -” Dean trailed off, feeling his cheeks warm.  “I promise you, that is so not the problem right now.”  
  
For a painful moment, Cas remained silent, and it only emphasized Dean’s struggle.  He was hard as a rock, and at this point, he really just needed to hang up and get off.  
  
“Dean, are you… jealous?”  
  
“Hah,” Dean huffed.  His heart jumped, but only because he fully expected that last word to be ‘horny’.  “No - Cas, I told you I don’t care what you do.”  
  
Cas snapped, “Oh, you don’t care.  You don’t care if I make other guys come?  What if I get off on it, what about then?  What if I’m fucking other guys, do you care about that, Dean?”  
  
It was absolute torture.  As he was talking, Dean’s hand had slipped into his sweatpants and went right for his dick, unable to resist just rubbing absently.  “Nope,” he squeaked - fuck, this was the worst.  
  
“Ah -” Cas groaned.  Dean got the feeling that Cas was in the same boat as him now.  “I think you do.  I think you want me to make you come, and only you.”  
  
“No, no, I don’t - want that - Cas -” Dean was earnestly jerking off now.  
  
“ _Fuck, hold on_ ,” Cas grumbled, his tone suddenly flipped.  “Tell me I’m not the only one who is finding this really hot.”  
  
Dean swallowed.  What the hell was he supposed to say, when he couldn’t even stop stroking his dick to take him seriously?  He winced.  “You’re not the only one _._ ”  
  
“Shit.  Dean - do you want this?”  
  
“ _Cas_ ,” Dean groaned, tightening his grip.  _Fuck it_.  “Hell yes, I want it, okay?  I want you to touch yourself while you talk to me so I can hear your voice getting wrecked -”  
  
Cas interrupted him, murmuring, “Mm, yeah I can do that.”  It made Dean think he was probably already doing it.  
  
Dean went on, clearly out of his mind now.  "And I want you to tell me more, wanna know what you do with other guys.  What gets you off."  
  
"Shit, Dean -  _you_  do.  You know that, I can't stop thinking what you would do, how easy you are to -"  
  
Cas was interrupted by a dull ringing noise.  He swore loudly again, and not in a good way.  
  
"What -?"  
  
"I gotta go," Cas said quickly.  The ringing continued.  
  
"It's a john," Dean realized, struck with awe.  
  
"It's not - don't use that word -"  
  
"Right - okay -" Dean meant to apologize, but his mouth was working separately from his brain as that ringing continued on Cas' end.  "Cas you gotta keep me on, man."  
  
"Dean, stop."  
  
"Come on, I only wanna hear you.  Just you.  God,  _please_ , Cas."  
  
Cas sounded pissed enough to murder.  "What the fuck -  _fuck_  - hit mute right now, you asshole - fuck!"  
  
Dean did as he was told, hardly believing his ears.  There was a loud clatter as Cas' phone hit something, then the ringing stopped.  
  
"Hey stud," came Cas' unsuccessful attempt to hide what a state he was in.  Dean's heart raced - Cas was supposed to be good at this!  
  
"Ah, you know it," Cas hummed, without clearing his throat, nothing to ease the obvious tension in it - just straight up out-of-his-mind horny, even strung out a little.  "I was just - so horny, waiting for you to call."  
  
The idea that Cas couldn't keep it together because of him listening in, it was doing great things for Dean.  He couldn't slow down enough to feel properly ashamed, just let his eyes roll shut as he beat it to the sound of Cas struggling to talk.  He gave a new description of himself, with blond hair and green eyes, a smooth and lean body - an eight inch cock, cut, sticking out the leg of his briefs, which were all that he had on.  
  
Dean almost questioned it,  _Wasn't he just with his little brother, where did his clothes go?_   Immediately, he felt like an idiot.  Of course Cas was making this up.  Damn, he made it believable.  
  
"I can't get off like this.  I need a hot cock to tear me up," Cas groaned.  Dean froze.  
  
 _What?_  
  
"Yeah?  Ahh, please,  _yes_  -"  
  
Where did dominating Cas go?  Why was he acting like a slutty little - Dean couldn't think of any other word just now -  _bitch_?  
  
But God, for the life of him, Dean could not stop jerking it as Cas told this guy how many dicks he'd sucked tonight already, explaining away the grumble in his voice.  It was eye-opening, as Dean had never imagined such flexibility in Cas' gruff timber.  Sure, he naturally sounded rough and intimidating - but hell if he couldn't also sound like a cock slut who literally had his vocals fucked out.  
  
Yeah, okay, maybe Cas was  _really_  good at this.  He had both his client and Dean coming in under ten minutes.  Judging by the way his breathlessness remained after he hung up on the client, giving a meek, "Dean?  Are you still there?", Cas had even finished off himself.  
  
Dean hit his unmute button to reply.  "Yeah man, I'm -" he couldn't say what he was, though.  In awe, for sure.  But mostly just dazed from blowing his load so hard.  
  
It was a minute before he collected himself enough to ask, “Cas, man - what the fuck was that?”  
  
“Me losing all semblance of professionalism and possibly my sanity,” Cas grunted, muffled.  Like he was covering his mouth.  "Dean, that can't happen again, okay?"  
  
Dean stumbled over his words.  “No, - I mean yes, okay, but I meant, do you -  _like_  - being the bottom?”  
  
“It’s not about what I like,” Cas bristled.  “I am an  _actor_.”  
  
“Okay, hold on.  With me, you’re…?”  There was a sinking feeling in Dean’s stomach as it occurred to him that Cas wasn’t as into this as he had thought.  
  
“Just doing whatever will get you worked up.”  So matter-of-fact.  
  
“But - Cas - I’m not a client!  I want it to be good for you, too.”  
  
" _Dean_ ," Cas' tone was silencing, "you are so good for me, I could give up all the rest."  
  
Well, shit.  Dean had no reply for that.  
  
"I mean -" Cas faltered.  He breathed in exasperation.  "You could say I have a thing for getting other people off.  Usually, the kinkier the person, the stronger it is - so I've sought out some really extreme partners in the past.  Doing distant sex work like this, it's a safe middle ground which fulfills that for me."  
  
"I see," Dean said, only because Cas had seemed to pause for assurance.  
  
"But Dean, you - I can't get enough of you," Cas groaned.  "I don't know what it is, because your preferences are pretty plain - I mean, yeah I have had some amazing vanilla partners before but  _damn_.  And all this is only over the phone?  It makes no sense."  
  
"Wow, I..." Dean reeled.  Cas' frustration at trying to explain himself sounded all too familiar to Dean's own crisis.  "I get it, man.  I thought it was pheromones."  
  
Cas chuckled.  "I guess it has been even more confusing for you."  
  
"Hmm."  Dean didn't want to make comparisons to Cas' problems, but hell if this wasn't the most confusing event of his life.  
  
But it was as much of a talk as they were going to have on the subject.  They were unofficially official now; and things were only going to get weirder.  
  
The next day, Dean could hardly wait to get home after work so he could call Cas, and this time there was no dancing around how horny they were.  It was much more time efficient, Dean thought.  
  
While Cas was in the thick of it, he ordered Dean to text a photo of himself.  Dean one-upped him, running to his drawers to find a pair of satiny panties that a girl had left behind once.  He pulled them on and took a crazy shot of himself - the payoff was amazing.  Not only did Cas lose his shit, it was a great ice breaker.  Facetiming was easy after that.  Dean found that he couldn't even worry about what Cas would look like.  
  
But Cas was gorgeous.  Despite rocking some of that intentional bedhead every time, he had this intensity about him that put the TV Novak to shame.  He was thicker, too; where the actor was lean and toned, Cas was almost buff.  But Dean could not deny the similarities, the sharp nose and piercing eyes, even his chin.  It was uncanny.  
  
Dean also noted that Cas' room had a wall of cardboard boxes.  It was oddly sobering for Dean, and he found he couldn't ask about it.  Instead, he blurted something stupid about wanting to see Cas' blue eyes in person.  
  
Surprisingly, Cas replied, "That would be nice.  Once I'm settled here," he gestured at the freaking boxes.  
  
"Yeah," Dean nodded.  He was too excited at that prospect to remember to kick himself.  
  
But once they made that switch to video calls, they didn't really go back.  So when Dean got a call, just over a week later, from the old number Dean had saved as Novak, he was thrown off.  
  
It was late, probably nearing midnight, and he was only just getting home.  He had to arrange a night at Ellen's because everyone was convinced that he had disappeared off the face of the planet - even though he was at work every single goddamn day.  
  
It was a long night, but fun.  It was Charlie's first time meeting Benny, but they had a lot more in common than anyone would have imagined.  Before anyone had received their orders, the two of them had set up a date at the shooting range.  Then there was Sam, who was convinced that Dean had patched things up with "the girl", and on the whole Dean just found it all too amusing.  
  
So Dean was in a great mood, he answered the call with a laugh as he kicked off his boots.  "I know you miss me, but what's with the old number?"  
  
As he asked the question, logic settled in.  Cas had to leave his old work number behind for good reason.  There was no answer, just some static.  
  
Dean tried again, “Hello?”  
  
The man who answered was definitely not Cas.  
  
“Samuel Winchester.”  The reply was slow, almost incredulous.  
  
The only time he had used Sam's name was the account on Cas' old website.  “What’s it to you?” Dean snapped, immediately on edge.  
  
“I just needed to hear you myself.”  
  
“Who is this?”  
  
“I don’t know what I expected, but - you sound nothing like it.”  
  
Dean knew he should just hang up, but something kept him on the line.  He was angry.  “Who the fuck is this?”  
  
The guy chuckled, no doubt pleased that he’d gotten a rise out of Dean.  “I am sure my name wouldn’t mean anything to you.”  
  
“Then why do you know mine?”  
  
“Would you believe me if I said I got it from a mutual friend, our dear Castiel?”  It wasn’t really unexpected at this point, but when he said it Dean careened.  He could put two and two together.  
  
“ _Bartholomew._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh god. warning: gunna jump the shark, guys


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

“ _Bartholomew_.” Dean had only heard it the once, so he was surprised when the name fell from his mouth.

“Ah. So he did mention me. I will have to thank him for that.”

"You're insane," Dean breathed. "What the hell do you want?"

Bartholomew drawled lazily, "I was _trying_ to contact Castiel, but it seems his security is quite sophisticated. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

“You stay the hell away from Cas! Don’t you have a no-contact order?”

"Ah, you heard about that too?" He remained unbearably smug. “It seems Castiel couldn’t contain his adulation. I am flattered.”

Just his voice made Dean feel sick. How could Cas stand this guy for so long? “You’re disgusting.”

“No,” Bartholomew snapped, “what is disgusting is your naivety. You think you’re in love and you’ll be the one to save him?”

 _Where the hell is he getting this from?_ Dean had no idea what to say to that.

“Well, I’ve got news for you. You can't change him. A whore is a whore.”

“You watch your mouth,” Dean bit out.

Bartholomew just laughed. “Like I said, so naive. A bit like Castiel - you know, the whore doesn’t even lock his car doors? He really should be more careful.”

Dean felt his stomach lurch. “Where the fuck are you, asshole?”

“A little city called Pontiac. Autumn is quite beautiful in Illinois, you should visit.”

“How the - you’re fucked, you hear me? You’re gonna do time for this shit, I’ll make sure - !”

Bartholomew suddenly talked over him. “Oh - Winchester, I’m afraid I have to cut our little chat short. I believe I just spotted a whore.”

" _Son of a bitch!_ " Dean shouted, but the line was already dead.

He was still standing in the entrance of his apartment, rooted to the spot, and he slammed his door shut. It did nothing to satisfy his anger. His hands were almost shaking as Dean scrolled for Cas' number in his call logs.

Time seemed to have slowed compared to Dean's racing heart, and as he waited for Cas to pick up the phone, every ring was agonizing. All he could think of, as he paced the length of his apartment, was Cas strolling up to his car - it was even later at night for him - he wouldn't give a second glance in the dark. He'd just get into the car, and like in a horror film, Bartholomew would be waiting in his back seat. Would Cas see him in the rearview?

Cas didn't answer Dean's call. He didn't have voicemail, either. Instead of trying a second time, Dean immediately dialled 911.

He had never had a good relationship with cops. Ellen actually had to fight tooth and nail to keep Dean out of juvie, back in the day. So Dean knew very well, they were a bunch of dicks who couldn't tell their heads from their asses - but they were the quickest way to locating Cas right now. In this case, the ends justified the means. Dean was out-of-his-mind desperate.

The first question was easy enough: "What is the nature of your emergency?"

"Someone just broke into my friend's car and threatened to attack him - he already has an order against this guy."

Then the lady asked him, "Where are you?"

Dean almost stuttered. "I'm not - they're not in Kansas. He just called me."

"Where is this taking place?"

Dean's train of thought screeched to a complete halt. He couldn't even say what car Cas drove, let alone where it might be. Dean heard himself respond, "He said, Pontiac, Illinois."

"Do you have an address?"

"No, ma'am," he choked.

"Plates?"

"I don't know."

"Make and model?"

"His phone number, that's all I have," Dean realized. "There must be a way to look him up."

She took the number, and Cas' full name, Dean had to spell it out. She asked for his name, too. She did everything to keep him on the line, but it seemed every answer Dean gave only confused her all the more.

"Mr Winchester, do you know why your friend's attacker would call you?"

"So you haven't had any previous contact with this man?"

"How do you know your friend?" That one was a doozy.

"Online. A forum," Dean managed, absently. He had her on speaker and he was texting Cas now, ' _got a call from Bart the psycho, says he's in your car? Please tell me you're ok'_.

She asked what Dean did know about Cas' location, and he gave half-assed descriptions of what his apartment window may have looked like in their few video calls the past week. What he knew of Cas' room was so generic - and to be totally honest, he was never focusing on architecture when he had Cas to gawk at. Once, Cas had complained about an elevator not working, so Dean assumed he was on a higher storey.

The operator lady told him that she had sent extra patrol cars out to scan for activity outside apartment buildings. That did nothing to ease Dean's nerves.

Cas still hadn't responded, of course. God only knew what that meant, what was happening on Cas' end of things.

"Mr Winchester," she said again suddenly.

"Yup," Dean answered, freezing with fear at her tone.

"The phone number you gave is protected. Can you double check the number?"

He did. It wasn't wrong. "Protected, what does that mean?"

"It must be a secure line - does your friend work for federal government by any chance? Like, in protection or maybe intelligence?"

"No," Dean reeled. "No, he's - ...definitely not. Did you look for his name -?"

"There is no directory listing for a Castiel or Celestine."

"His brother!" Dean remembered. "Look for an Alfie, Alfred or - or freakin' Alphonzo, I don't know - he lives with his brother."

Whoever she had on the other line tried, but there was exactly zero Celestines listed in any phone directory for the entire state of Illinois. DMV results were the same.

"Son of a bitch," Dean breathed. He had nothing. It was starting to feel like he was chasing a ghost.

"You've gotta find him - this guy - his name is Bartholomew, okay, I think he's rich or something."

"I'm sorry, sir, but we need more information. If you could tell us what the car looks like, the last location you had for your friend -"

Dean finally just hung up on her, swearing. He kicked at his coffee table, knocking it over. He tried Cas again, of course to no avail. So he texted, ' _i tried the cops, they're useless'_.

He went back and highlighted the number he had received the call from, Cas' old one. He hit 'dial', though he knew what would happen.

" _The number you have reached is not in service_ -" he hung up again. Kicked the coffee table so it flipped a second time, completely upside down now. It felt good, so he rammed at the sofa, too, pushing it onto its back. He flipped the cushions up. He tried to call Cas again. Again. Again. All while swearing endlessly.

"Hello, Dean," came a gruff voice from his phone.

" _Cas?!_ " _He fucking answered!_

"Please calm down, I am perfectly fine," Cas insisted, without a hint of emotion.

"Cas, Bartholomew - he called me -"

Cas interrupted him, "Yes, I realize, and I apologize for having you involved."

So goddamn perfunctory. Dean saw red. "Man, stow the Vulcan crap this time! Did he - what, was it a joke or -?"

"Unfortunately, he was quite serious."

"So he was there."

Cas assured him, "It was not an issue; I easily subdued him."

Dean had to sit down, on the floor, to collect himself. "Subdued - Bartholomew. You 'subdued' him. What does that mean?"

Cas breathed against the phone. "It means he has been _apprehended_ , alright? Gabe is delivering him to the police station as we speak."

"Gabe. Your older brother? He's there?"

"Yes," he grumbled, clearly irritated now. "I needed his help with - moving."

"You hate your family," Dean said automatically. He couldn't help his surprise; in the span of an hour or two, Cas had gone from simply being his long-distance best friend to a complete enigma.

"Gabe means well. Please, leave this alone."

"Cas - state records don't have any Celestine, not you or Alfie - and apparently your number looks like fucking secret service. I couldn't find you!"

" _Dean_ ," Cas warned; but all Dean could think was that he sounded cornered now.

He pressed, "Cas, what's going on, man?"

Cas sighed again, but he started talking, slowly. "My brother Alfie chose a new name to distance himself from the family. That's a matter of his own privacy, but I can tell you he has not used my family's name for many years now. As for me, I moved here from out of state only a couple weeks ago. So I am unsurprised they could not locate us."

"Huh," Dean frowned, trying to sound unimpressed. "Your phone?"

"I did ask Gabe for assistance in obtaining a private number after Bartholomew. Security is a specialty in his line of work, so I wouldn't have any idea what system he used - but it seems he used family connections to go the full nine yards." Cas sounded - amused? "He really was needlessly concerned about the matter, to make the trip out here."

Dean was stunned. "I thought he was helping you move," he said sullenly.

"That too."

"Then how - why am I able to call you?"

"I approved your number, of course," Cas said warmly.

Dean huffed, refusing to be drawn in by Cas' charm. "And your family - what, are they feds?"

"Not really. They have connections," Cas repeated vaguely.

"Really."

" _Yes_ , Dean."

Dean didn't know what else to say. Had he really just started trashing his living room over nothing? Cas' stuffy brothers were tight with some feds, and overprotective to boot. They had simply made finding Cas - like Dean was trying to do tonight - impossible. It made sense.

Suddenly Dean was exhausted. "I was flipping shit, Cas."

"I know," he said quietly, "thank you for your efforts."

"Just tell me, did he hurt you at all?"

"Couldn't even touch me," Cas answered.

"What a relief." Dean's free hand was pressed over his eyes, which were _not_ wet. It seemed he had nothing to worry about after all; Bartholomew had done his best, and Cas wasn't even fazed.

"Please, just put it out of your mind and go to sleep. You have work in the morning."

He was right. "I don't know if I am going to get any sleep tonight," Dean said, although he felt like he could pass out right there on the floor. He pushed himself up, disregarding his haphazard furniture and crossed to his bed.

Cas made an angry noise. "I feel awful that you were dragged into this mess. I never imagined that he would find you."

"Stop apologizing," Dean mumbled. "You know I'd rather know what's going on with you."

"You worried needlessly," Cas insisted. "Bartholomew was never any real threat to me. A nuisance, at best. I know very well how to defend myself."

More and more, Dean was getting the impression that Cas was not someone to fuck around with. There was something intimidating now about his calm demeanour in the face of all of this - it wasn't just a show for Dean. Cas had truly never feared Bartholomew, not even for a moment.

Dean sighed, "Yeah, I'm starting to get that."

"Dean, I would like to keep you company, but this whole fiasco has already made me late to pick up Samandriel."

Dean meant to tell him not to worry, but couldn't refrain from asking, "Pick up the what now?"

"I mean - damnit, that's Gabe's fault - I meant Alfie. He's Alfie now."

"Oh! Yeah, for sure. You should go, I am totally fine."

"I can call you when we get home again," Cas offered.

"No man, it's already too late - even later for you guys. Let's just call it a night."

"Thank you again, Dean. It is nice to have someone worry about me like this."

Dean's cheeks warmed. "Hah. Anytime, Cas." Although Dean was beginning to be more worried for anyone who tried to take him on.

\- -

The morning came all too quickly. He was woken up just before six a.m. by a Zeppelin riff sounding on his phone. It took Dean an extra second to recognize that it was not the tune of his alarm, but of his ringtone. It was a totally new number, with a familiar area code, Cas'.

_Once burned, twice shy._

Dean cleared his throat before answering. "Hello?"

"Good morning," the reply was an older guy, grumpy, like Bobby. "This is Detective Robards from the Pontiac Police Department. Have I reached Mr Dean Winchester?"

"Yes, sir."

"Mr Winchester, I am calling about your 911 call of last night."

"Did you find the guy? Bartholomew?" Dean asked, carefully. What more could they want from Dean now?

"In a manner of speaking. Three D.C. men, one of whom was identified as Bartholomew A. Harrington, were found unconscious outside the precinct about two hours ago."

Dean marvelled, _Cas took on three guys?_ But he didn't say anything. Something in Robard's tone had him on edge.

The cop continued, "They were beaten bloody and had to be rushed to the hospital, and it is still unclear whether any of them will regain consciousness." Dean felt his heart in his throat. That didn't sound like Cas. Then again, last night had been a giant lesson in all the things Dean really didn't know about Cas...

"Mr Winchester," Robards said again, with a note of condescension, "your call is our only lead on this case. It seems you were the last to speak with Harrington. Can you tell me what he was doing in Illinois?"

Dean's mouth was dry. "No, sir, I don't know anything."

Robards sighed heavily. "Well, did you speak with a man named Bartholomew last night?"

"I don't know," Dean answered forcefully. "I got a call from a complete stranger last night. He could have been anyone."

"And did he threaten your friend, named here as Castiel Celestine?"

"Cas had a stalker for over a month. I was sure he was the stalker."

"That sounds about right. We found a restraining order between Mr Celestine and Mr Harrington, issued in D.C. and registered in Maryland. On account of harassment. Now Harrington turns up in Illinois, and you ask Pontiac police to locate Celestine."

Dean repeated, "I don't know anything, officer. I am two states away, in Lawrence, Kansas."

The old cop sighed. "Mr Winchester. What we are looking at here is anything but self defense. There was water in the man's lungs, evidence that he was methodically tortured."

 _I subdued him_ , Cas had said. Dean shuddered. It couldn't have been Cas.

"We need any information you might have on Castiel Celestine to find out what happened here. If you want to wait for an interstate subpoena, we can do that."

 _There is no way I could be in trouble for any of this - is there?_ Dean thought, becoming frantic. "Look, I have never even met Castiel. We just talk about TV shows, ever heard of Game of Thrones? That's it. Bartholomew was the one who told me he was in Pontiac."

"So you want to wait."

"Are you listening to me - I don't know jack!"

"Thank you for your time, Mr Winchester." He promptly hung up on Dean.

\- -

Somehow, Sam had the audacity to smirk when Dean finished relating the story later that evening. Dean wanted to reach across the booth and strangle all the amusement out of Sam's face. He'd had the longest day of his life, fretting over this bullshit - never mind that Cas seemed to have up and _completely fucking disappeared_ since their talk last night.

But no, Sam thought this was a great time for a pun.

"That's quite the wake up call," he snickered, clearly thinking he was hilarious.

" _Sam!_ " Dean slammed his hands on the table, turning more than a few heads, including Jo a few tables down.

"Alright, alright," Sam uttered, glancing around. "Look, I don't know what you're worried about. You were with us last night, _here_ at the Roadhouse - Ellen probably even has surveillance footage to back you up - so there's no way you could be pinned with any charges in another state. Not a chance."

Dean hadn't thought of that: his obvious alibi. But what Sam wasn't understanding was that it was _Cas_ Dean was worried about. "He said he was going to issue a 'sub-peony' whatever that is - and it didn't sound like a freakin' bouquet, Sammy."

"Not a peony, it's -" Sam visibly stopped himself from laughing again and cleared his throat. "They can force you to give testimony - but if you don't know anything, you don't know anything. I could do up an affidavit tonight, it's really nothing."

That didn't sound so bad. Dean thought on it. _He_ couldn't even find Cas right now, so there wasn't much he could give away. The website for Cas' old job, that was about it.

Jo showed up then with fresh beers. "You guys ok?" she asked, looking from Dean to Sam as she wiped her hands on her apron.

"Just preparing my future Yelp reviews for when Sammy becomes a lawyer. Zero out of ten, would not recommend," Dean gave him a pointed look.

"It's rated out of five, not out of ten," Sam corrected.

"You are a fucking geek," Dean retorted.

"Well _boys_ ," Jo interjected, suddenly all business, "if it's just a squabble can you please use your inside voices for me, hmm?" Here, she glared at Dean.

Normally, he could bicker with her just as easily, but every once in a while Jo would take on her mother's tone so well it made him hang his head and blurt, "Sorry, Jo."

Sam, too. "We'll keep it civil."

"Thanks," she said, flashing a grin. "Enjoy!" And she headed back to the bar.

"How does she do that?" Dean grumbled.

Sam didn't answer, but leaned in and started again, "Look, it's just an assault charge. You have a couple of those yourself. What's the problem?"

Dean frowned. Okay, so he had a hard enough time telling Sam that his new friend was the _gay chatline actor_ , never mind that the guy had possibly waterboarded someone. It was a lot for Dean to take in, let alone vocalize. Sam had more or less gotten the abridged version, without the henchmen and the super secret phone lines.

"Alright, here's the scary part. I tried calling him after that, and his number is disconnected now. I haven't heard from him since last night - when he basically admitted to taking the guy out."

"That is pretty weird," Sam admitted, then shook his head. "But Dean, it sounds like your friend will get off on self defence - the only one who's definitely going away is buddy who violated a restraining order. I say, just tell 'em what you know and wash your hands of it."

Dean couldn't say anything. If he identified Cas' chatline company in a witness statement and got him in trouble... No, Dean wasn't a snitch. Especially not against his friends.

Sam leaned back, studying Dean. He looked amused again.

"What," Dean glared.

"A phone sex operator," Sam mouthed, almost too quiet even for Dean to hear. He was unable to hide his grin anymore; Dean was just glad he was being subtle.

"You already knew about that," Dean said impatiently. Sam was missing the bigger picture here.

"I don't know, I never imagined you'd actually get involved with one of -" Sam's face fell, his eyes went wide. "It was _him_."

"What was?" Dean grumbled, really not liking the way Sam looked like he had just discovered gold.

"The girl -" Sam stopped himself. "Or, not-girl... Wow, Dean, are you really -"

Then it clicked.

"Are you _serious_?!" Dean hissed, mindful of keeping his volume down. "I'm telling you that I'm somehow a witness in a freakin' vigilante ninja case, and you wanna know if I'm _boning him?_ "

" _Vigilante_? Dean, you're blowing this out of proportion - all he did was take down his own attacker," Sam shook his head.

"No," Dean insisted, "Cas didn't do this. And I'm telling you, he's _disappeared_."

Sam watched him carefully. "Dean, is there something you're not telling me?"

 _Yeah, I am actually scared shitless_ , Dean realized. Cas knew too much about Dean, and it seemed Dean knew too much about Cas. And apparently, people who crossed Cas ended up in the hospital. So what kind of 'family connections' did Cas actually have? Was it this Gabe guy who had given Bartholomew what was coming to him - and could he come for Dean next?

"You're serious about him," Sam said quietly.

"Fuckin' rights, I am," Dean glowered. But when Sam's eyebrows shot up in surprise, he realized Sam wasn't talking about fear.

And Dean's stupid face betrayed him, flushing red hot. "Wait -"

"Dean, it's okay, I'm -"

"Shut your _stupid mouth_ , Sam -"

"I'm sure he will call," Sam finished forcefully. It wasn't what Dean was expecting, so he had no response.

"Just give him some time," Sam insisted, too gentle for Dean to deal with right now.

Dean stood, fed up. "You're not getting it."

" _Dean_ ," Sam actually grabbed his wrist to stop him. "You have to know I don't care about that."

Dean pulled his hand away angrily. "I really wouldn't give a shit right now if you did." As he turned away, it hit him that the statement was fairly incriminating, that Sam could probably never be thrown off that trail now.

But Dean had a hard time seeing how that mattered anymore, and could not bring himself to turn around. It was just not a conversation he could tackle right now. _Let Sam have his ideas_.

Besides, he really wasn't wrong after all.

Dean didn't hear from Cas that night - and he wasn't going to hear from Pontiac again, either. He was at work the next morning when Bobby stuck his head into the shop to pull him from his work. Dean had a visitor.

"You gettin' into trouble, boy?" Bobby muttered quietly.

Dean was about to crack a joke, but something in Bobby's expression stopped him and he shook his head. "No, sir."

"Then can you tell me why I've got an FBI agent in my office?"

Of all the things Dean thought he might say, that was not one of them. " _FBI?_ "

"For you," Bobby nodded at him.

"I really don't know," Dean insisted. He was sure they were here about Cas, but why it was feds, he had no idea.

They stepped into Bobby's office to find a black guy seated in front of his desk, suited right up.

Bobby gestured between them. "Dean, this is agent -"

"Henriksen," he supplied, standing to shake hands.

Dean shook his hand, but couldn't make himself say that it was nice to meet him or some other polite bullshit. Just stared him down.

"I was wondering if we could have a chat, Winchester," he said, glancing up at Bobby instead of Dean.

"He's all yours," Bobby shrugged. Then, nearly a threat, "I'll be right out front."

"Thank you, Mr Singer," Henriksen nodded.

Then they were alone. "Would you like to sit, Winchester? Or can I call you Dean?"

Dean tried not to roll his eyes, that this hack was offering him one of Bobby's chairs. "I'm good here. And you can call me whatever you want."

"Okay," he nodded, studying Dean. "You think you know why I'm here, Dean, but you're mistaken."

Dean only raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh?"

"Yeah," he took out his phone to open something on it. Then he held it up, displaying an unmistakeable candid of - "Castiel Celestine," the fed finished.

Dean bit his lip. This was some paparazzi shot, obviously taken at a distance from above, meanwhile Cas had no idea. He was standing outside, in front of a row of seats. He was in a group it seemed, and dressed to the nines in a black suit and long overcoat. He was glancing over his shoulder, his expression stoic - shit, he looked _hot_.

Dean pulled his gaze to Henriksen's dumb mug, trying to keep his own face unreadable. "Did you have an actual question for me, _agent_?"

Henriksen only seemed amused at the attitude. He nodded at the phone again, where he zoomed out of the photo - damn, that was some high res - to reveal the displayed crowd Castiel was part of. Every single person was clad in black, seemingly in designer fashion like Cas. They were a rich group. Very rich. Gathering in front of a ceremonial display, which was cut from the frame, and beyond them there were towering statues of angels, beyond those a long stretch of pillared architecture. A courtyard? Or a graveyard.

Cas had mentioned an inheritance drama with his brothers - and inheritance usually meant death.

"Is that a funeral?" Dean asked coldly. "Kinda low, snapping pictures of people in mourning."

"Just trying to give you an idea of the bigger picture here. Castiel isn't even on the chessboard." He indicated the distance between where Castiel stood - to be honest, Dean had already lost him in the lineup - and the central podium, where a smaller group was already seated.

"Why are you showing me this?"

Henriksen squared in on the podium. "These are the guys I'm after. The true culprit behind all the drama in little old Pontiac? He's on this stage."

Dean leaned back against a bookshelf, folding his arms. "You are barking up the wrong tree, pal. I don't know a single person in that photo."

"No? Not a single one?" Henriksen frowned. "Because I listened to your 911 call, Dean. You spelled out Castiel's name."

He rolled his eyes. "I have never seen Cas. We just met online."

"Ah. So you don't recognize him?" Henriksen asked, his tone mocking.

"Nope."

"Let me make this clear. The Celestine family is a branch of one of the biggest international crime rings known to the United States government. Big time in human trafficking, but it seems impossible to pin anything on them. Now, I have evidence that one of the major players was in Illinois the day before yesterday. Then there was a beatdown on some big time owner in televangelism _and_ both his bodyguards. Harrington wasn't some small fry, Dean. And you seemed to know it was going to happen before it did - and you named the vic. So you're going to help me bag this asshole."

Henriksen swiped for another photo, held it in Dean's face. "Have you ever heard the name Gabriel Celestine?"

"Nope," Dean insisted, forcing himself to look at the image of a smirking man with hair as long as Sam's, whose eyes twinkled like he was exactly where he wanted to be despite the fact that it was a mug shot.

Henriksen seemed to buy the lie, and swiped again. Not a mug shot, this time it was a professional portrait of a black man with a buzz cut, intense eyes and a snarl. "What about Raphael?"

"Nope," Dean said, honestly this time.

He selected a photo of a third man, a white guy again and with dark hair. It was a public shot, of him standing at a lectern, waving and grinning like it pained him. "Michael."

"Nope." Dean's indignance was subsiding enough that he was starting to find this amusing. This fed was effectively introducing Cas' family to him.

 _So these are the dickbag older brothers_ , Dean mused. It was more than obvious that everyone had been adopted, like Cas said.

The last man he showed Dean had blond hair and dark circles under his eyes. He smiled impishly like Gabriel, and apparently went by "Lou".

"His legal name is Lucifer," Henriksen said with disgust. "Their adoptive father had a thing for angel names."

"Hmm," Dean said, trying to sound completely uninterested. It was hard, though; he was giving so much context for Cas' weird ass family.

Henriksen stared him down, more intense now. "As far as I know, Winchester, Castiel has been out of the game for at least eight years. I need to know whether he called in Gabriel, or your friend 'Cas' could be blamed for the attack on Harrington and his men. When we both know it wasn't him."

"Gee, I wish I could help," Dean bit out sarcastically.

He pulled up a new photo. A man in a hospital bed. Dean looked away before he could take in much, but he saw enough to know that the man would not be recognizable even to his own mother right now. He glared hard at Henriksen.

" _This_ is just the big brothers flexing. I know about the order Castiel had against Harrington; you have to understand that this wasn't about protecting family. It's a matter of _pride_. You get involved with these people, they'll fuck you up eventually, Winchester. Do you really want to be next?"


	9. Chapter 9

There was no peace for Dean. After yesterday's drama, he had more than expected Cas to call. Dreaded it, even, by the time Henriksen had finished with him.  
  
But now Dean was nearly done work for the day, and his phone had nothing for him - unless of course he found himself in the mood for Sam's constant messaging. He did not.  
  
It was too familiar, the way Dean kept checking his phone with the anticipation of Cas’ name there. He’d been through this already, he knew better. He put his phone away with every intention of it being the final time, though that was what he'd been telling himself all afternoon.  
  
It just didn't feel anything like last time. It wasn't so much about when or whether Cas would call. That conversation with Henriksen was stuck in Dean's head like a catchy commercial jingle; every time it replayed, this awful sensation wrenched through Dean, a twisting in his gut.  
  
Dean avoided naming the feeling, but it recalled one particular night when teenaged Sam truly met their father's harder disciplinary side. He'd blamed Dean for not covering for him. But even today Sam still had no idea why it took a whole fourteen years for Dad to lay hands on him in the first place. All that mattered in the end was whether Dean had snitched.  
  
Dean was pulled from his rumination by a sudden tap on his shoulder. Charlie was hovering at his side, with an expression promising to relieve him from his thoughts entirely.  
  
"Charlie," he said, after shutting off the compressor and yanking one plug from his ear. When Charlie gestured at a big plastic watch on her wrist, Dean realized it must be well past closing time if she was here.  
  
Her smirk was surprisingly free of sympathy. "You trying to rack up some overtime or what?"  
  
Dean loved her so much in that moment. A visit from the FBI was hard to keep on the down low, so she knew something was going on. Everyone knew. Only Charlie pretended not to.  
  
"Sam's being a bitch," Dean shrugged. "I still owe him a bit of money."  
  
"Does that mean it's over?" Charlie looked genuinely surprised.  
  
"What?"  
  
"The pranks."  
  
It made Dean feel so empty. There was a part of him that was supposed to get competitive here. Pride?  
  
"I guess so," he turned away, stepped out from under the hoist. He went straight for the controls, to lower the little old Neon he had up there, but something stopped him.  
  
The car had no wheels on.  
  
"I didn't think it was possible to win. Sam must be pretty pleased with himself."  
  
Sam was never pleased with anything. Dean didn't want to get into it, though. "Must be."  
  
He pulled his gloves and went to hang his gear, Charlie at his heels. She was saying, "You haven't asked me why I'm here."  
  
She didn't have work today? "Why are you here?"  
  
Throughout the day, Dean had been carelessly tossing sockets into their case, and now that he was standing in front of them he knew Bobby would murder him for leaving them like that. He started ordering them properly.  
  
"For you, my buddy," she elbowed him. She reached out and picked up a socket, the smallest in the set, and placed it in the first slot. Before Dean could answer, "Today we were going to meet Benny at the gun range, remember?"  
  
There was a shadow of a memory in Dean's head, from the other night at Ellen's. "That was today?"  
  
"Mmhmm." Charlie located a bigger socket and dropped it in the last slot. It was the wrong one. Dean replaced it.  
  
He didn't remember agreeing to go with them. It was very likely that he hadn't. "Would it be so bad if I ditched out?"  
  
"No," Charlie said nonchalantly, testing another socket in several spots before finding one that fit. She didn't leave it there, but lifted it again to inspect it. "They have sizes on them."  
  
"They do."  
  
She stepped in Dean's way and made quick work of the rest, matching the numbers and talking away. "I mean, there's nothing intimidating about Benny. Not even with all those big guns at hand, I'd say. It's not like little old me needs any entourage."  
  
"Charlie," Dean sighed. "Benny is good people, I wouldn't send you two off if there was anything to worry about."  
  
"That's what I just said," she replied, grinning. "No one needs you."  
  
"Thanks," Dean bit out sarcastically. Charlie wasn't usually one for the guilt trip. They left the garage, making for the break room where Dean could shed his oil-stained work shirt.  
  
"I just thought you could use the target practice. Last time we played Call of Duty, you sucked ass."  
  
Despite himself, it pulled a smirk from Dean. "It's not the same thing."  
  
"Invite stands."  
  
Dean pulled on his jacket and faced her. She was leaning against the counter across from him, her expression serious.  
  
"Thanks, Charlie. I'm good."  
  
She nodded. "You have my number."  
  
She took a hug from him, then they parted ways quickly. Dean found he couldn't go home, though. As he pulled out of the shop in his Impala, he made a left instead of the usual right. He knew why as soon as he paused to think about it; his phone was burning a hole in his pocket still, and not because of Cas' silence.  
  
_’The freaking FBI. Tell me you cooperated’_ , was one of the many texts Dean had left unanswered today. He felt sick just thinking about it.  
  
Sam was almost certainly waiting for him back at his apartment. He would want to talk about yesterday and Henriksen, and Dean wanted to do anything but talk about yesterday and Henriksen.  
  
_‘You don’t even know the guy’  
  
‘Don’t fuck yourself over Dean’ _  
  
Apparently he went straight to the assumption that Dean was protecting Cas. Right or wrong, Sam had a lot of nerve preaching here. He’d left the house after that fight with Dad all those years ago; it was months before he would even talk to Dean again.  
  
He never considered what that meant for Dean, left alone with their enraged father. All that mattered was whether Dean had snitched.  
  
He made for the highway, for Ellen's Roadhouse. There would be food there, great food. And there would be one of the only people who had known their father, really known, and who refused to demonize him. Unlike Sam.  
  
It didn’t take long. Ellen was juggling about a million things, but sat Dean in one of the more private corner booths and was back not ten minutes later. Dean saw that she had pulled the dishwasher Garth from the kitchens to serve tables, and he immediately felt bad.  
  
“No need, Ellen, I will come back when things die down -”  
  
“ _Sit._  
  
Dean dropped right back into his seat, although he hadn’t meant to. “I mean it, coming in here like this was -”  
  
“The first smart thing you’ve done,” Ellen’s tone cut right through Dean’s words. “Now. The usual?”  
  
Dean nodded sheepishly. “Thank you.”  
  
She shook her head. “Just hang tight.”  
  
Dean watched as she marched up to Garth and stopped him from leaving the bar with a tray of drinks. Dean couldn’t hear anything through the din of the busy restaurant, but she was gesturing impatiently at something behind the counter. The ice machine, Dean realized, as Garth set the tray down and started dropping cubes into his glasses.  
  
Ellen disappeared into the kitchen. Dean glanced to her usual place behind the bar and found Jo mixing drinks instead of serving. As if on cue, Jo looked up and met Dean’s eye. She gave him a nod that could have been as innocuous as ‘hello’, but Dean had to look away all the same.  
  
He stared guiltily at the table. He knew better than to come around during the dinner rush, on a Friday no less. They had a few motel rooms attached to the Roadhouse that they had to manage too, and there was always high demand for the start of the weekends. Dean had to fight just to stay in his seat; everything in him was screaming to sneak away while he still could, but against Ellen’s command to stay that was just crazy talk. No one walked out on Ellen Harvelle.  
  
She was back again, set an icy mug in front of Dean. She sat down across from him, stirring a dark cola drink with a straw.  
  
“So. FBI.”  
  
Yeah, Dean was going to hurl before the end of this. “Yes ma’am,” he forced himself to say before allowing himself a good chug from his beer. He wished it was something stronger.  
  
Ellen watched him. “Your brother is off his head worried about you.”  
  
"Sam is always off his head." Of course Sam had called. God, he couldn't be alone with his feelings for a single day. Didn't he have a girlfriend to vent to?  
  
"You asked him for advice," she pressed. "He seems to think you left something important out of your story."  
  
Dean's mouth was dry but he didn't reach for his drink just then. Ellen was really studying him, and he probably looked a nervous wreck as it was. "I have a friend," he made himself say. He stopped. How much had Sam told her?  
  
"The feds were looking for him, that's why?"  
  
He shook his head. "Not him. Cas didn't do anything wrong."  
  
Ellen was unreadable.  
  
"He's a good guy, I -" Dean was going to say _I swear_ , but couldn't with Ellen staring him down like this. He had to stick to his guns though, to pretend that he had all this faith in Cas, that some gruesome photograph of a bloody Bartholomew wasn't haunting Dean all day. That Cas couldn't have done such a thing.  
  
The conversation with Henriksen was something Dean had to stuff down a deep hole in order to keep talking. "It's his family. They're bad news."  
  
She gave no reaction, just nodded for him to continue. So Dean ploughed on.  
  
"Real bad," he breathed, and it felt like lifting a dead weight. "He has been trying to get away from them, but they caught up with him."  
  
"How old is this Cas?"  
  
"I don't -" but he did know. "Twenty nine."  
  
She frowned around her straw. "And he's not independent?"  
  
"He is. Very independent. They - ..." _found him because of me._ "He even moved to a new state, they followed him."  
  
"Is it because he owes?"  
  
"No, no, nothing like that." Dean shook his head. But it wasn't true enough for his stomach, which wouldn't stop doing flips.  
  
He knew Cas had borrowed money; but he was repaying it way ahead of schedule, he’d already explained that was why his older brothers let Cas and his two little brothers stay at a distance. Then there was the security stuff. The name they were clearing from the scope of authorities was _Castiel_. Did he owe for that?  
  
Not the kind of owing Ellen was talking about, at any rate.  
  
"You're sure," she said, like she was ready to believe him no matter the answer.  
  
Dean nodded. "As there's cold shit in a dead cat."  
  
Ellen relaxed. "Well then, what can I do for you, Dean?"  
  
She hit the nail on the head. Dean had come to ask a favor. He had to know that he was doing the right thing. He put his words with Henriksen out of his mind and steeled himself.  
  
\- - -  
  
Dean didn't realize how exhausted he was until he finally made it back home that night. He'd watched Ellen call Sam, right in front of him, and order him out of Dean's apartment, but still he glanced around as if expected Sam to come out of every corner.  
  
It was empty. Dean felt himself sag with that knowledge; there was no one to hold up a front for now. He had to lean against the door just to pull his shoes off, and he collapsed on the couch because it was nearer than the bed.  
  
He pulled out his phone to check it, for the first time since leaving work. He wasn't exactly proud of himself for refraining, but he felt like he deserved this look now. It took a second before he was really reading what he was looking at.  
  
_"1 unread message from Cas"_.  
  
Dean sat up. He stared at it, heart pounding. It wasn't excitement or relief or anything pleasant. He was pissed.  
  
He didn't open the message, but used his newfound energy to grab sleeping clothes and stomp over to his bathroom. He needed a good long shower to scrub all the bullshit away.  
  
The shower didn't really help. Dean wasn't able to resist checking immediately afterward; it seemed this was the kind of bullshit that didn't come clean just because he wanted it to. He hadn't even rubbed the towel over his hair properly, and a couple drops of water hit his phone screen as he pulled up the message.  
  
_"I am so sorry for the block. I wanted to call you more than anything. Please tell me if you are alright. -CC"_  
  
"That's it?!" Dean yelled at no one.  
  
He started to type a _"too fucking late"_ , but stopped. No, he wasn't going to let Cas drop back in after leaving him high and dry like that.  
  
Cas could go fuck himself.  
  
\- -  
  
Dean barely lasted a day. He left the phone at home, took the battery out first for good measure. He got groceries. He got some whiskey. He wasn't going to drink it, it was just to fill the empty space in his cupboard. And it felt kind of good to know it was there.  
  
But it was barely noon, and Dean couldn't stand it anymore. Not just Cas, Sam was bound to show up if Dean's phone was off for too long. Ellen's command wouldn't keep him away forever.  
  
Fuck it, Dean decided as he lunged for his phone again. He was going to get this over with.  
  
It rang for a while, long enough for Dean to start reconsidering, but then Cas was with him. "Hello, Dean," the usual greeting had taken on a tone of surprise.  
  
"Cas," Dean said, surprised a little himself.  
  
Cas was not alone. Dean heard a guy distinctly close by to him exclaiming, "Dean? _The_ Dean?!"  
  
"Yes," Cas snapped, presumably at the guy and not at Dean.  
  
"Uh - is now a good time?" Dean bit out in annoyance.  
  
"Yes, of course - I mean, I have been waiting to hear from you," Cas rushed, talking over whoever it was.  
  
Dean wanted to ask who was there, who knew his name, but all he could think of was Henriksen holding pictures of Cas' brothers in his face. He was better off not knowing. He went with sarcasm instead. "You, waiting for me?"  
  
"I'm sorry, Dean, it wasn't my choice -"  
  
It wasn't Dean who cut him off. "Maybe if you had vetted him properly," the extra voice contended, like it wasn't the first time they'd argued this point.  
  
"You know what, I don't care," Dean raised his voice as if he was competing with Cas' company. "What did you think I was going to tell the feds that was so bad?"  
  
"Feds." Cas' tone was sharp. So he hadn't known.  
  
Fine, Dean could fill him in. It didn't equate to forgiveness. "Yeah, your buddy Henriksen came to visit me at work yesterday."  
  
Instead of an answer, Dean heard a distinctive whump. A shout. And then chaos, the blaring of angry traffic.  
  
Cas' friend was yelling; Dean heard, "Learn to drive!"  
  
Cas was yelling louder. Dean had never heard him like this.  
  
"Where is it?! _Where is it?!_ "  
  
Dean felt stupid, but heard himself asking anyway. "Cas?"  
  
Cas did not answer him. He was arguing with his friend over the sound of horns still honking in the background. Dean couldn't make out most of it, but gleaned that Cas was looking for something. Dean held the phone from his ear as the cacophony continued, equal parts offended and curious. Cas was losing it.  
  
"Your _can-_ " Dean couldn't hear the rest. Was that 'candy'?  
  
" _You got the fucking candy, didn't you?_ " Yup. Dean suspected it was some kind of dope. It seemed Cas found what he was looking for, too.  
  
Then, as far as Dean could tell, Cas was kicking his passenger out of the car. He tried to reply to Dean at this point, over his passenger's complaints.  
  
"Are you still there, Dean?"  
  
"Yeah..."  
  
His passenger was saying, "Come on Cas, wait -"  
  
There was a thump. The sound of horns had mostly died away.  
  
Cas breathed against the phone. "Gabe. He couldn't fucking help himself."  
  
Dean thought he said "What the hell," but the words never left his lips.  
  
Cas was finally talking. "It amuses him to play games with agent Henriksen. He tipped him off that he was in Pontiac. They probably made the connection to your call... that's how he found you. I'm so sorry Dean, Gabe is the worst."  
  
A pause. "Dean, are you okay?"  
  
Dean was picturing the excited gaze of the brother from the mugshot. Gabriel Celestine. He was a very real person after all.  
  
"Did he show you -" Cas' tone was solemn now, enough to bring up the image of Bartholomew before he could even say it.  
  
Dean cut him off. "Who did it?"  
  
"Who did - what?"  
  
"Bartholomew. You said you subdued him." Yes, this was the most important question. It made all the difference.  
  
Cas sighed. "I did. I didn't hurt him - much. I just tied his hands. I mean, maybe he had a black eye, but that’s it. He was still conscious when I left him with Gabe."  
  
"So Gabe -" Dean had to swallow. "Gabe did all the - the rest? I mean, have you seen it?"  
  
"I have not. But I don't need to," Cas said meaningfully.  
  
Dean's head spun. "He is a monster, Cas. You let him-"  
  
"I know, I know, I should have known better. Dean," Cas sounded so earnest, Dean didn't want to listen. He didn't want to understand. "I didn't think he would do this. I thought I could trust Gabe."  
  
"I didn't tell him," Dean croaked. It was an awful admission. "I thought he could somehow use your company to find you, I thought you'd get pinned for the assault, I didn't, I never -"  
  
_I never imagined you did it._  
  
"You tried to protect me."  
  
Dean couldn't talk. Was he right, or did he just want to be right so desperately that he would believe anything?  
  
"You shouldn't have done that," Cas said. He sounded - frustrated? "You'll be associated with me, now, with Gabe. You should have just told them everything you know. He made you an offer, right? You would have been just fine."  
  
Dean couldn't believe what he was hearing. Not even a thanks, Cas was just scolding him - he sounded too much like Sam. "Are you fucking kidding me? So I'm supposed to just sell you down the river the second the FBI come around waving gorey pictures? Maybe you do need to see what your brother did to these guys. He freaking _waterboarded_ him!"  
  
"You don't get it - Henriksen knew it was Gabe. He does this shit on purpose, all the time, and they can never charge him for anything. My family takes care of it."  
  
"Takes care of it," Dean repeated, not ready to imagine what that meant. "They're protecting him. You're protecting him."  
  
Cas scoffed. "I'm hardly of use to anyone here. I've been out for years."  
  
_Here? Where the hell is ‘here’?_ "So you're just playing chauffeur, are you?"  
  
"I just left him on the side of the freeway," he corrected smugly.  
  
"Cas," Dean breathed, overwhelmed. He covered his face. "Don't go back to them, man."  
  
The responding silence told Dean he was on the money.  
  
"You're not in Illinois anymore, are you?"  
  
"I'm dealing with the situation, Dean," Cas said tersely. "Everything is under control."  
  
“You don’t need to, though. You can leave, start again. Remember you said you would visit?”  
  
“Dean -”  
  
“So come here! I already talked to someone, I can hook you up with a place to start -”  
  
“Dean, _stop_. Do you hear yourself?”  
  
He did hear himself. And he wasn’t entirely confident that it would just be words coming out; the longer he kept talking the more sick he felt. He wanted to do the right thing - he also wanted to keep Cas safe - actually he wanted to keep Cas, period.  
  
“I don’t want to lose you to them.” This was so. Goddamn. Embarrassing.  
  
“I’m not going anywhere,” Cas intoned, as if to comfort. “But I’m definitely not going to Kansas.”  
  
Dean didn’t know what else he could say. If the full blown gay love confession hadn’t worked, nothing else would. He tried, “We can still fix this.”  
  
“Dean. It’s not broken.”  
  
“After everything you’ve done to get away from your family? I can’t just let you go back to them.”  
  
“Well, then. It’s a good thing I don't require your permission,” Cas snapped, voice low and a little scary.  
  
“That’s not what I -” But the line was already dead.  
  
Cas had hung up on him.  
  
\- - -  
  
Sam had no idea what he was in for when he showed up uninvited that evening.  
  
Dean was sitting on the couch, facing the door when he walked in. “What do you think it means when I don’t answer your calls, bitch?”  
  
Sam glanced from Dean’s bottle and back to his face. He snarked, “That you’re a stubborn asshole who’s in way over his head.”  
  
“I am not in the mood, Sam. Get out.”  
  
“Gladly. After you tell me what the FBI wanted.”  
  
“No, you don’t understand. Get the fuck out before this gets ugly.”  
  
The shit was taking off his shoes. He strode over. “Did you, or did you not, cover for your phone sex buddy?”  
  
Dean threw his arms open, sloshing some whiskey across the floor as he did. “Fucking yes, okay?! Is that what you want to hear?”  
  
“What did he do?” Sam pressed.  
  
“ _Nothing!_ Not a goddamn thing!”  
  
“Then what did the FBI want with him?”  
  
Dean set his bottle on the coffee table and gave Sam his best glare. “No, let’s talk about what this is really about.”  
  
Sam took the bait, sat down across from him. “And what is that, Dean?”  
  
“The night you left. When I snitched.”  
  
He scoffed. “What? You are more drunk than I thought.”  
  
“I never told him jack, Sammy.”  
  
“Who, Dad?” Sam’s face became hard.  
  
“He tried to beat it out of me, but he had to drive around for hours before he found you. I never told him _jack_.”  
  
He was silent, listening, as if Dean was supposed to say something more. When Dean didn’t, Sam cleared his throat. “I didn’t know.”  
  
“No, you didn’t. Or why child services got involved, either. It wasn’t Ellen.”  
  
Sam frowned. “Dean, I was already staying with her before you came along. She was the one who made sure you were sent to us.”  
  
“No,” Dean almost laughed. After more than eight years, how could Cas’ bullshit have dredged up all this crap? When Dean had kept it bottled up all this time… “It was me.”  
  
His eyebrows went up, his eyes searching Dean for an explanation. He didn’t say anything.  
  
“Dad was pissed when he found out you dragged Ellen into it. Didn’t like to have dirty laundry aired in front of others, or whatever. More pissed than I’d ever seen him. Do you remember the angriest you ever saw Dad?”  
  
Sam nodded.  
  
“Imagine that times ten. He wanted to get you back. I couldn’t let him take you back.” He stopped, not sure how to put words to the rest of the story. Sam knew it, though.  
  
“Dean,” he breathed, clearly regretting several choice words from his adolescence. He repeated, “I never knew -”  
  
“So you can take your legal explanations and shove them up your ass, to be honest. ‘Cause I know when to fucking snitch, Sammy. I know, alright?”  
  
Sam seemed to get it, for a shining two seconds. He actually said, “I’m sorry, Dean.”  
  
He seemed so upset, Dean even tried to patch the hurt. “Well, if you hadn’t set him off so bad, we wouldn’t have had Ellen and Jo all those years, right? Just - don’t think about it too much. I don’t.”  
  
He nodded, and Dean thought he’d gotten through. But Sam was just a dog with a bone. “This doesn’t change the kind of trouble your friend is in. He might be dangerous.”  
  
“Honestly, Sam,” Dean felt the truth as he said the words, “I really don’t care.”  
  
Even with the benefit of every doubt, Cas was undeniably at least a little dangerous. He’d come from a crime family. He’d taken out three guys on his own.  
  
But whether he’d hurt them or not, whether he would get Dean in trouble or not, Dean couldn’t know. What he did know: he had _already_ gotten Cas in trouble.  
  
This was all Dean’s fault to begin with, and Cas never deserved one bit of it.  
  
He told Sam his plan to help Cas move to Lawrence, that Ellen had agreed to put him up in one of the rooms at the Roadhouse. Sam actually accepted it, and didn’t argue when Dean asked him to leave. He wished Dean good luck.  
  
Dean needed it, as he picked up his phone and called Cas with a racing heart. He could do this. Cas would listen.  
  
It only rang twice before he picked up, a good sign.  
  
“Yyyellow!” It was not Cas. “Gabe here.”  
  
He was a mugshot with laughing eyes. He tortured people for messing with his little brother. He had locked that same brother in an underground sewer overnight. Gabriel Celestine, a man who flaunted crimes in front of feds like a bird teasing a housecat through a window.  
  
“Where’s Cas?” Dean bit out.  
  
“It’s Dean, right? Cas can’t come to the phone right now, Deanie beanie.”  
  
“What are you doing with his phone?”  
  
“Uh, my phone. I gave it to him, didn’t I? It was just on a loan until he came back. I knew he was coming back.”  
  
“Cas doesn’t want to be there, let him go,” Dean blurted, feeling like a child. There was no scenario where that would help Cas, and quite a few where it actually made things worse for him.  
  
“You’re right. He does not,” Gabriel whistled. “But I’ll tell you something else. Cas doesn’t have much of a choice. _Somebody_ spelled his name right out for a 911 operator and now he needs our dear eldest brother to cover his ass. Do you know what Michael’s price is?”  
  
Just his voice, the way he talked, Dean wanted to throttle him. But he was talking, and he had much looser lips than his little brother. “Is Cas working for him?”  
  
“Bingo. Now who’s fault do you think that is?”  
  
“Excuse me? You're the one who -”  
  
Gabriel cut him off with an obnoxious “Ah, ah! My brother knew exactly who he was calling in. My shenanigans? He can anticipate. You, you were a wildcard, and in the end he was not ready for you.”  
  
Dean had done it. He had given Cas’ name.  
  
“You _tipped them off_.”  
  
“I behaved in a perfectly predictable manner, is what I did.”  
  
Somewhere in the back of Dean’s mind, he couldn't concede that worrying about Cas and trying to help was wrong. But he was hearing Gabriel all too well. He was not wrong, either.  
  
“What do I do.”  
  
This was exactly where Gabriel wanted him. He was all seriousness now: “You leave him alone. Don’t get any more involved. The worst thing you could do to Cas is land yourself on Michael’s radar. Just disappear.”  
  
Dean knew he was reaching, that he had no reason to believe Gabriel gave a rat’s ass about Cas, but if he was going to step down, then - “Will you look out for him?”  
  
“Cas don’t need nobody to look out for him,” he scoffed, clearly amused at the idea.  
  
“I know he seems that way, but -”  
  
“Alright Romeo, listen up: there is no out for Cas, okay? He’s not allowed to keep doing his sexy thing, and he’s got a pretty limited skillset otherwise, plus a debt to pay. He’ll work it off, and be done in a couple years. You might even hear from him then.”  
  
_Years. He’ll lose years over this._  
  
Dean felt sick to his stomach. The way Gabriel talked, he clearly had no idea what all of this meant to Cas. After everything he’d done to distance himself from his family, Cas had to - what, martyr himself so his little brothers would never know they had no inheritance? Dean couldn’t just accept that. No. The whole thing was bullshit.  
  
He made a show of sighing in defeat. Gabriel still might help him on one front: “Well, would you at least give him something from me? When the time is right.”  
  
An exaggerated sigh. “And if the time is never right?”  
  
“Well then I’ve already disappeared, haven’t I?”  
  
Gabriel laughed, gleeful. “You're not as dumb as I thought.”  
  
But Gabriel was exactly as dumb as Dean thought. Dean had no intentions now of just quietly waiting for Cas again. Letting him carry the weight all by himself.  
  
_If no one else is going to help Cas, then I will._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the year long absence.. I am trying this thing where I finish for the sake of finishing. It got longer than it was supposed to (again), but I promise the end is nigh friends... thank you for the comments, I will reply soon!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

The worst part was ignoring Cas' calls. He only tried twice, one day after another, and Dean stayed true to his agreement with Gabriel. He did not answer. For the rest of the week, the silence was unbearable, he couldn't stop wondering what it meant. Instead of wallowing, though, Dean focused all his energy on the one lead he did have.  
  
He was not as easy to find as Dean had hoped. He didn't have much to go on, and as he got started he realized he had even less than he’d thought. There was no university in Pontiac, Illinois. There wasn’t even a real post-secondary institution in the whole goddamn county.  
  
All he had was a face, courtesy of Agent Henriksen, and the fragmentary story Dean had cobbled together from what he remembered of commiserating about little brothers with Cas. He’d spent the last week kicking himself for not paying more attention, because it became hard to tell whether Dean was missing pieces or Cas simply hadn’t been straight with him.  
  
If he had it right, Dean was looking for a kid in the academic fast lane, already working towards his masters before he'd officially finished his undergrad. In a town with no schools.  
  
Fortunately, a place that size didn’t have too many ads for education research volunteers, either. Dean only found one. Before he knew it, he was sitting outside a cafe in Pontiac waiting for his guy.  
  
How many Alfies could there be doing a dissertation on a “Qualitative Study of the Experiences of Gay and Male Bisexual Men in Trades”?  
  
Just the one, Dean was willing to gamble on that. He was small and unassuming, he waved like he was trying to flag Dean down as soon as he saw him. He jogged half a block from the bus stop where he had just gotten off.  
  
“Thanks for waiting,” the boy called as he reached Dean.  
  
Well, he was younger than Sammy, that made him just a kid in Dean’s eyes. He didn't look a day over twenty, anyway. High school, Dean would have guessed. It wasn’t until he was close enough for Dean to discern the light blue in his eyes that he was even sure this was the right kid.  
  
“No, no problem at all.” Dean put on his best friendly face, and they shook hands.  
  
“What was your name again? John?”  
  
“Bonham, yup.”  
  
The kid faltered. “Yeah, isn’t that the drummer for Led Zeppelin?”  
  
Dean did his best not to look like a deer in headlights. Made himself laugh. “Classic rock fan, nice!” Then, before the kid could answer, “And you must be Alfie?”  
  
“Sorry, yes. Alfie Wiener.”  
  
Again, Dean’s ability to keep a straight face was seriously tested. He wasn’t supposed to know that Alfie had picked his own last name - but god, it took everything he had not to ask why he’d picked Wiener, out of the whole wide world of surnames.  
  
They sat down and thankfully Dean was able to fudge some damn good answers to Alfie’s questions. He had actually dropped out of an auto mechanic program at a trade school, and education was Alfie’s focus. He had to add a lot more gay to the story than he’d ever imagined possible, but even that wasn’t too hard. Dean was only here because he was so hung up on Cas, after all.  
  
Alfie was such a sweet kid, Dean started to wonder if he could even do this. If he should. Cas didn’t want him here, he was probably in way over his head – and Dean didn’t even know what he would do once he did find Cas.  
  
Just say, _‘Please go home’?_ It hadn’t worked very well last time.  
  
But the opportunity came, when Alfie finished the interview and offered to walk with Dean to help him find a corner store. And Dean found that he did have it in him after all; he didn’t even hesitate.  
  
He paused in front of an alley. “I actually have a question for you now, Samandriel.”  
  
Dean had rightly predicted his response. Alfie made like he was about to bolt, but Dean had come prepared.  
  
Once Alfie’s eyes trained on the Colt just barely visible inside the lapel of Dean’s jacket, he nearly tripped trying to come to a stop. He spoke without a trace of worry, though. “You could get arrested if you’re caught with that here.”  
  
“You calling my bluff?” Dean was banking that he wouldn’t; the Colt was loaded with an empty clip.  
  
Alfie shook his head, but it was with an air of weariness. He let Dean push him into the alley, with his hands up in a surrender that looked more like resignation. He sounded tired when he asked, “Did Michael send you? Raphael?”  
  
“No, I’m not a goon.”  
  
His eyes went wide. “Lou?” _That_ was fear.  
  
“What? Are you listening? No one sent me,” Dean insisted. “I’m looking for Cas. Castiel.”  
  
Then Alfie looked pissed. He snarled at Dean, “ _It was you_ ,” and then a grip on Dean’s wrist caused a searing pain that made him drop the Colt out of reflex.  
  
Alfie was an unexpected powerhouse, twisted his arm right around until Dean was forced onto his knees. Dean tried to tell him he had it all wrong, but didn’t get past, “Wait, you’ve got it all wrong,” before the pavement came rushing up to bulldoze his face.  
  
Dean didn’t remember anything after that.  
  
\- - -  
  
He woke up with a pounding headache and a blinding pain in the bridge of his nose. Hell if it wasn’t broken. He managed to blink his eyes open enough to take in his surroundings; he was indoors. An office?  
  
There was a cluttered desk against one wall and a wide window cutting into the other. The sill, or the blinds, somehow looked familiar even though Dean did not recognize the room at all. Dean figured, déjà vu was probably the least of possible side effects of getting your face smashed in.  
  
Against his back, though, was an upholstered surface, short enough to stop at Dean’s ears where his head was lolled against it. A sofa, he realized, as he turned his cheek against the cushion to look at it. The couch was a deep blue, and big, looked like you could sink right into it. Opposite was a TV on its stand, with a black screen that reflected Dean’s image back at him. His eyes were a shadow, and he wondered if that was the screen or there was bruising evidence of his pain.  
  
A living room, then. It was kind of cozy, in the way it reminded Dean of sharing that bachelor pad with college student Sam, just a couple years ago. It seemed so discordant with being kidnapped. And that he was. Dean registered that his hands were bound as he tried to get up.  
  
The thump alerted whoever else was in the other room to Dean’s rousing.  
  
“You’re awake,” a voice from somewhere behind him accompanied soft footsteps. Socks.  
  
“Am I?” Dean groaned, laying it on a little thick.  
  
“Hold on.” The footsteps retreated. Dean could hear rustling in the next room.  
  
When Alfie returned, coming around the corner with a small white package in hand, Dean had eased himself up onto the sofa and was glaring him down. Best as he could, with the throbbing of a broken nose blaring in his face.  
  
“Here,” Alfie said, offering the package. It was a bag of ice, Dean realized. Alfie just held it out for him, as if waiting for him to take it.  
  
“I’d love to, but-“ Dean leaned forward to show his hands tied behind his back.  
  
“Oh, I’m sorry,” and Alfie went to untying him, just like that.  
  
A second later, Dean’s hands came free, and he gazed between them and up at Alfie in confusion. “You’re not supposed to let your hostages loose.”  
  
“That would be sound advice if you were a hostage,” he responded, apologetic still. He passed Dean the ice pack, and it was a world of relief against the bridge of Dean’s nose. He pulled himself up onto the sofa, and Alfie sat across from him.  
  
“Then what the heck was all …” Dean was gesturing, he didn’t know at what.  
  
“I didn’t know – I thought you were the man who attacked my brother last week. You are certainly not John Bonham,” he added, smiling. “It’s Dean, right?”  
  
Dean barely nodded before asking, “And what changed between now and tying me up?”  
  
“I contacted my brother. He explained my mistake. I should have known, you would have a lot more bruising to show for it if you had met him in person.”  
  
“Cas?” Dean couldn’t believe he still had the energy to spare, but his heart started thumping at the mention of him. Cas was who he had come looking for after all – and if Alfie had brought him home, that meant this was _their_ home, that Cas could be –  
  
“No, not Castiel. I believe you spoke with Gabriel?”  
  
Dean huffed darkly, trying to scoff but not quite making it. He had to shift the ice against his tender nose.  
  
“Yeah, he takes some getting used to. But he told me you were the one who contacted the police for Castiel’s sake. I can only imagine what Gabriel might have said, but I hope you know it was the right thing to do. Thank you.” Alfie was still sitting across from him, too serious.  
  
Dean shook his head, embarrassed. He couldn’t accept a thank you for setting the cops after Cas’ name. “Did he tell you Cas is going back to work for him because of that?”  
  
Alfie frowned, standing. “Castiel couldn’t work with Gabriel. He doesn’t do loan sharking,” he said, with too much finality for how little it actually conveyed. He was backing towards the hall. “I’ve got some tea steeping, just hold on.”  
  
Dean didn’t know what to make of it. He came back with a freaking tea tray, setting it on the coffee table and pouring a cup of dark tea. He ignored Dean’s _what the fuck_ face, seemingly with no intentions of returning to the conversation.  
  
When he asked “Sugar?” Dean couldn’t help himself anymore.  
  
“Gabriel is a loan shark?” He'd been expecting human trafficking, after all.  
  
Alfie nodded. “Or milk?”  
  
“What about Michael? Last I heard, they were both working for him. Can you tell me where that is?”  
  
He put the mug down, sighing. “You’ve got it wrong, Dean. Gabriel doesn’t work for Michael, he doesn’t work for anyone but himself.”  
  
“Well _Cas_ definitely does, so that’s where I need to go.”  
  
“Why do you think that?” Alfie had to be dense or something.  
  
“It comes straight from Gabe. You tell me if he’s a liar.”  
  
“He certainly is,” Alfie admitted, as if it was funny, just sitting back with his own cup of tea now. Like this was a goddamn picnic. “But I don’t see why he would say something like that. Castiel wouldn’t go back to work for Michael, he put everything he has into making sure he’d never have to do that again.”  
  
“Oh, fuck.” It dawned on Dean that Alfie was missing a crucial piece of the puzzle. He hadn’t anticipated really having a heart-to-heart with the kid, either, and wasn’t ready for the conversation now that they were having it. He just wanted to find out where Cas was, and be out of here. The loan wasn’t his secret to tell, and if there was anyone Cas didn’t want him to tell, it was the kid sitting in front of Dean now, looking at him like he was speaking Greek.  
  
But Dean wasn’t getting anywhere. Half the truth should be enough. “Okay, kid, I hate to be the one to burst your bubble, but Cas borrowed a lot of money from your family. After the Gabe fiasco last week, he thinks he has to work off the rest.”  
  
Alfie was frowning again. “No, that makes no sense.”  
  
“Alright, so where is Cas then? Has he even come home since?” His hesitation told Dean he was right. “Look, I know he registered an order in Maryland. Is that where they are?”  
  
His lips drew into a tight line, but he did not confirm.  
  
“Please, I need your help. I just want to get him out of there, but all I know for sure is that he’s with Gabriel.”  
  
“That doesn’t mean he’s working.” Holy crap, this kid was more stubborn than Sam!  
  
Dean snapped, “Yeah? So when’s he coming home? Are you even in contact with him?”  
  
Alfie didn’t offer any answer, because he didn’t have a good one. He might have been trying to glare at Dean, but he just looked too upset to pull it off. He repeated, “But that makes no sense – Castiel would never go back to Michael, not to work. You don’t understand, you don’t know what they do. Castiel _will not_.”  
  
“Fine. He’s not working. Then I’ll just go get him and bring him home. So tell me where.”  
  
Alfie’s face fell. “Dean. I have spent the last eight years trying to get away from my older brothers. You didn’t last five minutes after attacking me. If _I’m_ scared of them, what do you think you can accomplish by showing up uninvited?”  
  
“I’m not going to take them on or anything, I just want to find Cas.”  
  
“No. You are very important to my brother, that makes you leverage. If there’s any truth to this story, I cannot let you anywhere near Michael.”  
  
“So you do know where they are? You can go, then.”  
  
He looked away and set his tea down. “I have to remember that you don’t realize what you’re asking,” he said glumly. Dean couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The brother Cas would do anything for wouldn’t even take a couple days to go help him out. “If Castiel has decided to put himself in Michael’s hands again, that is his choice. I can’t imagine why. Nothing could ever make me go back there.”  
  
Dean huffed, “How about for your brother?”  
  
He narrowed his eyes, not at Dean but where he was staring at the table. “Castiel doesn’t need anyone to save him. If he went back, it’s because he wanted to.”  
  
_To hell with secret keeping._ “No, he did it for you. You and Inias, wherever that kid is. Why do you think Cas borrowed a shit ton of money? Think real hard, kiddo.”  
  
“That’s why your story makes no sense. Unless Cas had to buy his way out of the family business – but when Inias and I left, there was none of that. We were completely exiled; Father didn’t want anything to do with us.” Dean was just waiting for Alfie to come full circle with his logic. “But Castiel didn’t leave until after Father passed, when Michael took the seat as head of the family. Maybe he does things differently, I wouldn’t know. They didn’t even notify us when father passed away.”  
  
Apparently he needed a push. “Alright – so, who told you that your father died?”  
  
“Castiel. He let us into the funeral, too.”  
  
“Anything else Cas might have told you?”  
  
Alfie just looked at him in confusion.  
  
“About an inheritance from a father who disowned you?”  
  
“ _Oh._ ”  
  
Dean put a fist in the air, “There we go!” He was about to crack a joke but –  
  
A crashing cut him off. Alfie’s mug of tea was in pieces over the coffee table. “I can’t _believe_ him!”  
  
Dean didn’t know what to make of it. “You could be a little more grateful,” he tried.  
  
"Just - _just shut up_ ," Alfie barked, and the flash in his eyes reminded Dean of the version of Alfie he'd met in that alleyway.  
  
Dean quieted.  
  
"That money is just sitting there, Castiel knows this. I've barely used any of it, maybe a year's tuition and rent. There is no reason for him to go out and act like he has to carry some big weight - when no one asked him to! He didn't need to do anything!"  
  
"He wanted to help you start your life after what happened to you," Dean mumbled low, remembering Cas' words and trying to match them to the rage he was seeing. Would Sam act like this if anyone ever laid out Dean's sacrifices for him?  
  
"No, Dean," Alfie tried to look at him and apparently couldn't. He stood up, took a step away, and turned around again to look at the smashed mug. He groaned in frustration and walked away again, full on pacing now.  
  
"Castiel knows what it takes to break from the family. None of this was necessary, and he should have known it would just pull him back in one day. And now somehow that's _my fault?_ And Inias'? When we never asked for it." He dropped back on the sofa, covering his face with his hands. "And now I have to go back to Ilchester and see Lou again."  
  
"Ilchester? Is that where Cas went?" Dean perked right up. He'd been expecting Baltimore or something, at least some city. Ilchester was new to him.  
  
Alfie shot him a glare for real now. "Have you not heard anything I said? You'd just be compromising Castiel - and me - no, you're going straight home, Kansas boy," he condescended. It was like an entirely different person.  
  
“But – will you be able to bring Cas home?”  
  
He scoffed. “I doubt it. He’s like a horse to water, Castiel. Stubborn.” He had a phone out, was searching for something. He didn’t show Dean. “But I am going to let him know that he’s not using me and Inias as an excuse for his shitty life choices. With no one else to blame, he will probably come in out of the wind anyway.”  
  
_Yeah,_ Dean thought, _this is exactly how Sam would sound if the situation was reversed._ Did little brothers have no concept of appreciation? But Dean could understand Alfie’s feelings, too… it was completely opposite from Gabriel.  
  
Alfie had put the phone to his ear. “Inias? Castiel fucked us. Yes, _Castiel_.”  
  
\- - -  
  
Dean was humbled for his trip home. The whole drive, he just felt at a complete loss. He had gone to Pontiac with such determination, only to let a twenty-year-old basically send him on a time out. And he just took it.  
  
What else could he do, when Alfie was freakishly stronger than him? Dean had no idea where the little guy was hiding it. Probably the same place he was hiding all that rage under a deceitfully sweet and innocent face. Dean would not forget, could not; every time he looked into a mirror or glass, the dark bruise under his eye was evidence of his ass wooping.  
  
It was well after midnight when Dean made it home, and there was no part of him that entertained going after Cas now. Maybe things would be fine. Maybe Alfie would sort him out, give back all that money, Cas would be free…  
  
He couldn’t really believe that; he couldn’t imagine a better way, either. It was out of his hands, and he didn’t know what to do with them in the meantime. Embarrassingly, he tried Cas’ number again. _Out of service_. Yeah, right.  
  
He didn’t sleep the rest of the night. In the morning, he called Charlie, and in the afternoon he went for shooting practice with her and Benny. It was even a nice distraction. They went to the Roadhouse and Dean found he had no appetite. He drank so no one would notice that he didn't order food, and he stayed until closing, unwilling to go home. He pretended to be worse than he was, and Jo put him up in one of the rooms that had emptied now that the weekend was over.  
  
Dean didn’t know how he woke up without his alarm because his phone was dead, but he rinsed the night away in the fastest shower of his life and made it to the shop barely ten minutes late. Bobby didn’t say anything about it, or about his black eye. Dean was tired of repeating "You should see the other guy."  
  
Bobby hadn’t asked about the FBI visit either; he was too close to the family, to Ellen and to Sam, not to know that something was going on. Bobby wasn’t nosy enough to ask if Dean didn’t come to him with it. Dean charged his phone in Bobby’s office, without even a word of explanation.  
  
There weren’t nearly enough Bobbys in this world.  
  
Charlie had something else planned after work, but she promised tomorrow at the gun range. Dean didn’t know what to do with himself, he couldn’t be alone with his phone. He had thought Alfie might call or message, but it was day three and still nothing. How long did it take to get to Ilchester?  
  
Dean checked. Eleven and a half hours, driving. He didn’t think Alfie had a car, though. Flying was even better, he could have arrived as early as Sunday.  
  
He didn’t dare send Alfie a message. He went to the Roadhouse, and distracted Garth from his work. Not that there was a lot to do on a weeknight.  
  
Jo cut him off that evening, citing last night as a good reason. Dean had to leave. He found himself in front of the Cobalt Room, watching the meagre nightlife of a Tuesday from behind the Impala’s steering wheel.  
  
He went home. God, this Cas business had ruined his libido, too.  
  
Wednesday had no word from Alfie or either of his brothers. Even a scolding from Gabriel would have been welcome, anything that let Dean know something was happening. In the back of his mind, he’d started to imagine that Alfie hadn't gone after all - not that he left any doubts when he sent Dean home. As far as he could tell, Alfie had every intention of giving his brother an earful.  
  
But maybe he had come around since then. Maybe Alfie realized that Cas was only trying to help, and maybe he would return the favour in the same way. With secrets. It would probably be better for Cas, and maybe Gabriel would deliver Dean’s offer to him after all… but Dean couldn’t see it all just working out so neatly.  
  
If Alfie did confront Cas about the loan, then Cas would inevitably find out about Dean’s trip to Pontiac. If the stalking attempt didn’t upset him enough, then surely the betrayal to Alfie would. Cas would not be very happy with Dean no matter which way he sliced this.  
  
_What if the right moment never comes?_ Gabriel had asked.  
  
Dean knew he should have gone after Cas himself. Alfie had even given him a location despite himself, that meant something, didn't it?  
  
He wasn’t able to sleep through the night with all this buzzing in his brain, and caffeine was the only thing that kept him going through the say. He went home and passed out after work, which was a really bad idea; he completely missed shooting with Charlie and unlike Sam she didn’t know how to break into his apartment and wake him up.  
  
He did get up though, at ten o’clock, wide awake and with a long night ahead of him.  
  
_’I’m sorry Charlie’_ , he sent in reply to her missed calls.  
  
She answered immediately. Charlie, always with her phone in hand. _’No worries. Tomorrow?’_  
  
_’Yes please’_.  
  
He went for a drive, and found himself so averse to going back home again that he made it inside the Cobalt Room this time. Thankfully, he met Ellie, who was going through a rough split and didn’t want to talk much. She brought him back to hers under the express understanding that it was a one-and-done deal.  
  
Dean had a lot less trouble than he’d thought he would. Ellie knew exactly what she wanted from him, and it was a rhythm Dean knew all too well. Every other weekend, he used to almost need this. The past couple months with Cas was probably the longest in years that Dean had gone without getting laid; those months were the anomaly, not tonight.  
  
This, a soft, warm body under his hands, long hair tumbling over her shoulders as she rode him, this was what Dean knew.  
  
Work in the morning. He slipped out while she was still sleeping so he could make it to the shop, where he had an extra pair of Carhartts in his locker. He hadn’t even showered, and every once in a while when he was working he would catch a whiff of her scent from under his work shirt. It didn’t bring the sense of pride it usually did, just reminded Dean that he was covered in yesterday’s grit. That Bobby could probably smell alcohol on him.  
  
He didn’t look at his phone once all day. Instead of being an accomplishment, this time it was simply out of shame. That afternoon, he got a call from Jo, and when he didn’t answer her message, she called Bobby directly. He came into the shop to tell Dean.  
  
“I’m not your goddamn answering service, Winchester.” There wasn’t a lot of sting to his tone, though. He was really being too easy on Dean these days.  
  
If Dean had been keeping on top of his emails, he would have already known what was happening. The truth was that he hadn’t opened his inbox in days now. So when Jo insisted he come up for a celebration round – after closing, to boot – Dean genuinely thought it was for Sam’s graduation next week. The meet wouldn’t until two in the morning, so Dean figured he would be able to go home and shower.  
  
Benny and Charlie showed up at the shop, though. Five o’clock, on the dot.  
  
“That’s right – the shooting range,” Dean said, as soon as he spotted them. He almost considered doing a sheepish request for time, but Charlie overtalked him.  
  
“I knew you were going to be a space case again. You’re not ditching this time, Winchester!” She laughed as she said it, and it was so full of warmth and caring that Dean couldn’t say no.  
  
He splashed his face in the bathroom and slapped on some cologne. He could shower after shooting; he wouldn’t get too close to anyone in the meantime. It would be dark long before he had to meet everyone at the Roadhouse, so he’d have more than enough time to zip home first.  
  
Charlie preferred flying targets, too, and had brought extra. She shot five out of the air for every three of Dean’s; she didn’t let him miss this fact, either.  
  
She also did something strange, swiped his keys. Dean didn’t realize until well after dark, after they’d all packed up again and were ready go, when he pushed his hands into his pockets and found nothing.  
  
He didn’t think anything of it at first, was just listening to Benny talk about the fixes he still needed on his boat before it would be sail ready again. Dean dug around in his jeans, in his jacket again, and back to his jeans, without even asking about the keys. A jingle drew his eye to Charlie.  
  
She was holding them up with a smug expression. “Looking for these?”  
  
“Come on,” Dean said, flattening his tone so Charlie would know he wasn’t even joking a little bit. He held out one hand expectantly. “I need to go home and shower, I’m covered in oil.”  
  
She shook her head, grinning. “No can do. I’m under strict orders not to let you drive.”  
  
“Excuse me? Who’s smart idea –“ Dean looked to Benny, who offered nothing but a shrug. “Are you in on this?”  
  
“S’all the little lady’s doing.” If anything, he seemed amused.  
  
“I’m really not in the mood, come on –” Dean reached for the keys, and they disappeared with a flick of Charlie’s wrist. She laughed.  
  
She was not understanding how little patience Dean had right now. “Jo told me to make sure you eat before you show up. Apparently you got shitfaced last time because you aren’t eating or sleeping, she says.”  
  
Dean gestured again to say _give it here_ , nearly glaring. It wasn’t Charlie’s fault, but he really just needed to go home and shower. He growled, “At this rate, I’m not even going to show up.”  
  
“What’s so bad about going for dinner with us?” Charlie rolled her eyes and just turned to open the door to Benny’s truck. She was as immune to Dean’s displeasure as Sam was, apparently. She’d never been this bad before.  
  
He looked back at Benny again, who just shook his head – smiling, like Charlie was a freaking delight instead of a brat. He started around the truck to reach the driver’s side. Charlie was already inside, patting the seat beside her.  
  
“Pizza,” she enthused.  
  
Dean gave up. If she wanted to crowd the three of them into Benny’s pickup when Dean hadn’t showered all goddamn day, that was her prerogative. He shoved in, slamming the door.  
  
The squish between Charlie and the door made the scent of Ellie’s sheets hit him again; if he smelled like sex, Charlie didn’t seem to notice.  
  
Pizza wasn’t actually that bad. Dean unwound a little after a couple beers, and actually forgot about today’s hygiene lapse. Benny dropped him off at the Roadhouse well past two o’clock, tossing Dean his keys as he walked away from the truck.  
  
“Don’t drink and drive,” he said with a mocking salute.  
  
Dean lifted a choice finger for him as he pulled out of the lot.  
  
All in all, it was the best Dean had felt in the last two weeks; nothing was actually resolved, but finally he had stopped holding on to all the bullshit. Whether little Alfie Weiner could or would fix anything, whether Cas would ever take his offer. Whether Cas was intent on working for his family again, whatever kind of work that was - whether Dean would ever hear from him again.  
  
Dean couldn't change one bit of any of it. It was kind of comforting, embracing his uselessness.  
  
So he entered the Roadhouse in a relatively good mood, easily ready to apologize for being late. The restaurant was all cleared, and only a small group was huddled at the bar. Ellen, Jo, Sam - no Jess, Dean realized, but one of Sam’s friends had come. He was probably graduating too.  
  
Jo was slamming shots with him, as Dean approached, trying to remember the guy’s name. He had his back to Dean, but he didn't need to see the guy’s face. A name was on the tip of his tongue.  
  
_Jake,_ Dean thought, although it was a white guy in front of him. He just needed to list the names of Sam’s buddies. _Andy. Brady?_  
  
Dean wondered if his drinks were spiked at dinner with Charlie and Benny.  
  
Sam acknowledged Dean’s approach with a nod, too smug for his liking.  
  
Jo was staring at his classmate with wide eyes as he finished her row of shots. She asked, clearly impressed, “Are you okay?”  
  
“I think I am starting to feel something,” he spoke. His voice was treads on gravel, a deep timbre that was even a little scary, putting Dean on edge.  
  
Then he reached the bar and the whole scene seemed to slide out of his grasp. “What the hell,” he managed.  
  
“Dean.” It was Cas looking up at him, when their eyes met Dean didn't know how he ever could have imagined it was anyone else. He moved to get up from his seat, but suddenly gripped the counter like it was a lifeline. “Nope,” he said, eyes going wide.  
  
He was tipsy.  
  
Dean felt his eyes sting, and he hated this moment. _It’s too late_ , he thought, stupidly, even though he knew perfectly well that it wasn't right. Just because he'd given up didn't mean everyone else had.  
  
“Gabe gave me your message. I should have called first, I know. I came to say - to tell you - to ask you -”  
  
Dean surged forward and Cas was really there, he wore an overcoat that was too thick under Dean’s grip, he was so solid that it almost hurt when Dean crashed into him so hard. Despite the audience, all that Dean was able to process was a repetitive, _It worked, it all worked, Cas is okay, Cas is here -_  
  
His chin was rough, scratched Dean’s when he kissed him. He probably felt the same, after the long day he’d had -  
  
And then the last twenty four hours caught up with him, the fact that Ellen and Jo were not even three feet away, that Sam was watching him try to climb another man like a stripper pole. That he had barely done more than a wipedown of the mess that he and Ellie had made last night, and it had been a real mess.  
  
Dean pushed away, breathless. Cas stared at him silently.  
  
He was pretty sure he saw Sam hand Jo a crisp green bill, but he couldn't focus on that right now.  
  



End file.
